MEMORIAM 


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IF    WINTER    COMES 


BY  A.  S.  M.  HUTCHINSON 


THE  HAPPY  WARRIOR 
ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER  — 
THE  CLEAN  HEART 
IP  WINTER  COMES 


IF   WINTER   COMES 


BY 


A.  S.  M.  HUTCHINSON 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1922 


Copyright,  1921, 
BY  A.  S.  M.  HUTCHINSON. 

All  rights  reserved 

Published  August,  1921 

Reprinted  August,  1921  (twice) 

Reprinted  September,  1921  (four  times) 

Reprinted  October,  1921  (three  times) 

Reprinted  November,  1921  (five  times) 

Reprinted  December,  1921  (eight  times) 

Reprinted  January,  1922  (four  times) 

Reprinted  February,  1922  (twice) 

Reprinted  March,  1922 

Reprinted  April,  1922 


IN  MEMORIAM 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


133 


".   .   .  O  Wind, 
If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind?" 

— SHELLEY 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE 

PAGE 

MABEL       .        ..        *     •    «        .         .        *        •         i 

PART   TWO 
NONA        .        .        .        .        .        .        .       -.        .      77 

PART    THREE 
EFFIE        .        .         . 187 

PART   FOUR 
MABEL  —  EFFIE  —  NONA  .         .         .        .         .     317 


PART  ONE 

MABEL 


IF    WINTER    COMES 


CHAPTER    I 
I 

To  take  Mark  Sabre  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  and  in  the 
year  1912,  and  at  the  place  Penny  Green  is  to  necessitate 
looking  back  a  little  towards  the  time  of  his  marriage  in 
1904,  but  happens  to  find  him  in  good  light  for  observa 
tion.  Encountering  him  hereabouts,  one  who  had  shared 
school  days  with  him  at  his  preparatory  school  so  much 
as  twenty-four  years  back  would  have  found  matter  for 
recognition. 

A  usefully  garrulous  person,  one  Hapgood,  a  solicitor, 
found  much. 

"  Whom  do  you  think  I  met  yesterday?  Old  Sabre! 
You  remember  old  Sabre  at  old  Wickamote's  ?  .  .  .  Yes, 
that 's  the  chap.  Used  to  call  him  Puzzlehead,  remember  ? 
Because  he  used  to  screw  up  his  forehead  over  things  old 
Wickamote  or  any  of  the  other  masters  said  and  sort  of 
drawl  out,  'Well,  I  don't  see  that,  sir.'  .  .  .  Yes,  rather! 
.  .  .  And  then  that  other  expression  of  his.  Just  the 
opposite.  When  old  Wickamote  or  some  one  had  landed 
him,  or  all  of  us,  with  some  dashed  punishment,  and  we 
were  gassing  about  it,  used  to  screw  up  his  nut  in  the 
same  way  and  say,  '  Yes,  but  I  see  what  he  means/  And 
some  one  would  say,  '  Well,  what  does  he  mean,  you  ass  ?  ' 
and  he  'd  start  gassing  some  rot  till  some  one  said,  '  Good 


4  IF    WINTER    COMES 

loid/ fancy,  sticking  up  for  a  master!'  And  old  Puzzle- 
head  would  say, "'  You  sickening  fool,  I  'm  not  sticking  up 
for  him.  I  'm  only  saying  he  's  right  from  how  he  looks 
at  it  and  it's  no  good  saying  he's  wrong.'  ...  Ha! 
Funny  days.  .  .  .  Jolly  nice  chap,  though,  old  Puzzle- 
head  was.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  met  him.  .  .  .  Fact,  I  run  into 
him  occasionally.  We  do  a  mild  amount  of  business  with 
his  firm.  I  buzz  down  there  about  once  a  year.  Tid- 
borough.  He  's  changed,  of  course.  So  have  you,  you 
know.  That  Vandyke  beard,  what?  Ha!  Old  Sabre  's 
not  done  anything  outrageous  like  that.  Real  thing  I 
seemed  to  notice  about  him  when  I  bumped  into  him  yes 
terday  was  that  he  did  n't  look  very  cheery.  Looked  to  me 
rather  as  though  he  'd  lost  something  and  was  wondering 
where  it  was.  Ha !  But  —  dashed  funny  —  I  mentioned 
something  about  that  appalling  speech  that  chap  made  in 
that  blasphemy  case  yesterday.  ...  Eh  ?  yes,  absolutely 
frightful,  wasn't  it?  —  well,  I'm  dashed  if  old  Sabre 
did  n't  puzzle  up  his  nut  in  exactly  the  same  old  way  and 
say,  '  Yes,  but  I  see  what  he  means'  I  reminded  him  and 
ragged  him  about  it  no  end.  Absolutely  the  same  words 
and  expression.  Funny  chap  .  .  .  nice  chap.  .  .  . 

"What  did  he  say  the  blasphemy  man  meant?  Oh,  I 
don't  know;  some  bilge,  just  as  he  used  to  about  the 
masters.  You  know  the  man  talked  some  rubbish  about 
how  the  State  couldn't  have  it  both  ways  —  could  n't 
blaspheme  against  God  by  flatly  denying  that  all  men  were 
equal  and  basing  all  its  legislation  on  keeping  one  class  up 
and  the  other  class  down ;  could  n't  do  that  and  at  the 
same  time  prosecute  him  because  he  said  that  religion  was 
—  well,  you  know  what  he  said;  I  'm  dashed  if  I  like  to 
repeat  it.  Joke  of  it  was  that  I  found  myself  using 
exactly  the  same  expression  to  old  Sabre  as  we  used  to 
use  at  school.  I  said,  '  Good  lord,  man,  fancy  sticking  up 
for  a  chap  like  that! '  And  old  Sabre  — by  Jove,  I  tell 


IF   WINTER    COMES  5 

you  there  we  all  were  in  a  flash  back  in  the  playground  at 
old  Wickamote's,  down  in  that  corner  by  the  workshop, 
all  kids  again  and  old  Puzzlehead  flicking  his  hand  out  of 
his  pocket  —  remember  how  he  used  to  ?  —  like  that  — 
and  saying,  '  You  sickening  fool,  I  'm  not  sticking  up  for 
him,  I  'm  only  saying  he  's  right  from  how  he  looks  at  it 
and  it 's  no  good  saying  he  's  wrong ! '  Rum,  eh,  after  all 
those  years.  .  .  .  No,  he  did  n't  say,  '  You  sickening  fool ' 
this  time.  I  reminded  him  how  he  used  to,  and  he  laughed 
and  said,  '  Yes ;  did  I  ?  Well,  I  still  get  riled,  you  know, 
when  chaps  can't  see  —  '  And  then  he  said  '  Yes,  "  sick 
ening  fool  ";  so  I  did;  odd! '  and  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  as  though  he  was  looking  a  thousand  miles  away 
—  this  was  in  his  office,  you  know  —  and  chucked  talk 
ing  absolutely.  .  .  . 

:<  Yes,  in  his  office  I  saw  him.  .  .  .  He  's  in  a  good  busi 
ness  down  there  at  Tidborough.  Dashed  good.  '  For 
tune,  East  and  Sabre '  .  .  .  Never  heard  of  them?  Ah, 
well,  that  shows  you  're  not  a  pillar  of  the  Church,  old 
son.  If  you  took  the  faintest  interest  in  your  particular 
place  of  worship,  or  in  any  Anglican  place  of  worship, 
you  'd  know  that  whenever  you  want  anything  for  the 
Church  from  a  hymn  book  or  a  hassock  or  a  pew  to  a 
pulpit  or  a  screen  or  a  spire  you  go  to  Fortune,  East  and 
Sabre,  Tidborough.  Similarly  in  the  scholastic  line,  any 
thing  from  a  birch  rod  to  a  desk  —  Fortune,  East  and 
Sabre,  by  return  and  the  best.  No,  they  're  the  great,  the 
great,  church  and  school- furnishing  people.  '  Ecclesiasti 
cal  and  Scholastic  Furnishers  and  Designers '  they  call 
themselves.  And  they're  IT.  No  really  decent  church 
or  really  gentlemanly  school  thinks  of  going  anywhere 
else.  They  keep  at  Tidborough  because  they  were  there 
when  they  furnished  the  first  church  in  the  year  One  or 
thereabouts.  I  expect  they  did  the  sun-ray  fittings  at 
Stonehenge.  Ha !  Anyway,  they  're  one  of  the  stately 


6  IF    WINTER    COMES 

firms  of  old  England,  and  old  Sabre  is  the  Sabre  part  of 
the  firm.  And  his  father  before  him  and  so  on.  For 
tune  and  East  are  both  bishops,  I  believe.  No,  not  really. 
But  I  tell  you  the  show  's  run  on  mighty  pious  lines. 
One  of  them  's  a  '  Rev/,  I  know.  I  mean,  the  tradition 
of  the  place  is  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  great  and  good 
works  it  carries  out  and  for  which,  incidentally,  it  is 
dashed  well  paid.  Rather.  Oh,  old  Sabre  has  butter 
with  his  bread  all  right.  .  .  . 

"  Married?  Oh,  yes,  he's  married.  Has  been  some 
time,  I  believe,  though  they  Ve  no  kids.  I  had  lunch  at 
his  place  one  time  I  was  down  Tidborough  way.  Now 
there  's  a  place  you  ought  to  go  to  paint  one  of  your 
pictures  —  where  he  lives  —  Penny  Green.  Pic 
turesque,  quaint  if  ever  a  place  was.  It 's  about  seven 
miles  from  Tidborough;  seven  miles  by  road  and  about 
seven  centuries  in  manners  and  customs  and  appearance 
and  all  that.  Proper  old  village  green,  you  know,  with 
a  duck  pond  and  cricket  pitch  and  houses  all  round  it. 
No  two  alike.  Just  like  one  of  Kate  Greenaway's  pic 
tures,  I  always  think.  It  just  sits  and  sleeps.  You 
would  n't  think  there  was  a  town  within  a  hundred  miles 
of  it,  let  alone  a  bustling  great  place  like  Tidborough. 
Go  down.  You  really  ought  to.  Yes,  and  by  Jove  you  '11 
have  to  hurry  up  if  you  want  to  catch  the  old-world  look 
of  the  place.  It 's  '  developing  '  .  .  .  l  being  developed/ 
.  .  .  Eh?  ...  Yes;  God  help  it;  I  agree.  After  all 
these  centuries  sleeping  there  it 's  suddenly  been  *  discov 
ered.'  People  are  coming  out  from  Tidborough  and  Al 
ton  and  Chovensbury  to  get  away  from  their  work  and 
live  there.  Making  a  sort  of  garden  suburb  business  of  it. 
They  Ve  got  a  new  church  already.  Stupendous  affair, 
considering  the  size  of  the  place  —  but  that 's  looking 
forward  to  this  development  movement,  the  new  vicar 
chap  says.  He 's  doing  the  developing  like  blazes.  Reg- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  7 

ular  tiger  he  is  for  shoving  things,  particularly  himself. 
Chap  called  Bagshaw — Boom  Bagshaw.  Character  if 
ever  there  was  one.  But  they  're  all  characters  down 
there  from  what  I  've  seen  of  it.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  you  go  down  there  and  have  a  look,  with  your 
sketch-book.  Old  Sabre  '11  love  to  see  you.  .  .  .  His 
wife?  .  .  .  Oh,  very  nice,  distinctly  nice.  Pretty  woman, 
very.  Somehow  I  did  n't  think  quite  the  sort  of  woman 
for  old  Puzzlehead.  Did  n't  appear  to  have  the  remotest 
interest  in  any  of  the  things  he  was  keen  about;  and  he 
seemed  a  bit  fed  with  her  sort  of  talk.  Hers  was  all 
gossip  —  all  about  the  people  there  and  what  a  rum  crowd 
they  were.  Devilish  funny,  I  thought,  some  of  her 
stories.  But  old  Sabre  —  well,  I  suppose  he  'd  heard  'em 
before.  Still,  there  was  something  —  something  about 
the  two  of  them.  You  know  that  sort  of  —  sort  of  — 
what  the  devil  is  it?  —  sort  of  stiffish  feeling  you  some 
times  feel  in  the  air  with  two  people  who  don't  quite 
click.  Well,  that  was  it.  Probably  only  my  fancy.  As 
to  that,  you  can  pretty  well  cut  the  welkin  with  a  knife 
at  my  place  sometimes  when  me  and  my  missus  get  our 
tails  up ;  and  we  're  fearful  pals.  Daresay  I  just  took  'em 
on  an  off  day.  But  that  was  my  impression  though  — 
that  she  was  n't  just  the  sort  of  woman  for  old  Sabre. 
But  after  all,  what  the  dickens  sort  of  woman  would  be  ? 
Fiddling  chap  for  a  husband,  old  Puzzlehead.  Can 
imagine  him  riling  any  wife  with  wrinkling  up  his  nut 
over  some  plain  as  a  pikestaff  thing  and  saying,  '  Well,  I 
don't  quite  see  that.'  Ha !  Rum  chap.  Nice  chap.  Have 
a  drink?" 


CHAPTER    II 

I 

THUS,  by  easy  means  of  the  garrulous  Hapgood, 
appear  persons,  places,  institutions;  lives,  homes,  activi 
ties;  the  web  and  the  tangle  and  the  amenities  of  a 
minute  fragment  of  human  existence.  Life.  An  odd 
business.  Into  life  we  come,  mysteriously  arrived,  are 
set  on  our  feet  and  on  we  go :  functioning  more  or  less 
ineffectively,  passing  through  permutations  and  com 
binations;  meeting  the  successive  events,  shocks,  sur 
prises  of  hours,  days,  years;  becoming  engulfed,  sub 
merged,  foundered  by  them ;  all  of  us  on  the  same  adven 
ture  yet  retaining  nevertheless  each  his  own  individual 
ity,  as  swimmers  carrying  each  his  undetachable  burden 
through  dark,  enormous  and  cavernous  seas.  Mysterious 
journey!  Uncharted,  unknown  and  finally  —  but  there 
is  no  finality!  Mysterious  and  stunning  sequel  —  not 
end  —  to  the  mysterious  and  tremendous  adventure ! 
Finally,  of  this  portion,  death,  disappearance,  —  gone! 
Astounding  development!  Mysterious  and  hapless  ar 
rival,  tremendous  and  mysterious  passage,  mysterious 
and  alarming  departure.  No  escaping  it;  no  volition  to 
enter  it  or  to  avoid  it;  no  prospect  of  defeating  it  or  solv 
ing  it.  Odd  affair !  Mysterious  and  baffling  conundrum 
to  be  mixed  up  in!  ...  Life! 

Come  to  this  pair,  Mark  Sabre  and  his  wife  Mabel,  at 
Penny  Green,  and  have  a  look  at  them  mixed  up  in  this 
odd  and  mysterious  business  of  life.  Some  apprehension 
of  the  odd  affair  that  it  was  was  characteristic  of  Mark 


IF   WINTER    COMES  9 

Sabre's  habit  of  mind,  increasingly  with  the  years,  — 
with  Mabel. 

II 

Penny  Green  —  "picturesque,  quaint  if  ever  a  place 
was ",  in  garrulous  Mr.  Hapgood's  words  —  lies  in  a 
shallow  depression,  in  shape  like  a  narrow  meat  dish. 
It  runs  east  and  west,  and  slightly  tilted  from  north  to 
south.  To  the  north  the  land  slopes  pleasantly  upward 
in  pasture  and  orchards,  and  here  was  the  site  of  the 
Penny  Green  Garden  Home  Development  Scheme.  Be 
yond  the  site,  a  considerable  area,  stands  Northrepps, 
the  seat  of  Lord  Tybar.  Lord  Tybar  sold  the  Develop 
ment  site  to  the  developers,  and,  as  he  signed  the  deed  of 
conveyance,  remarked  in  his  airy  way,  "  Ah,  nothing 
like  exercise,  gentlemen.  That 's  made  every  one  of  my 
ancestors  turn  in  his  grave."  The  developers  tittered 
respectfully  as  befits  men  who  have  landed  a  good  thing. 

Westward  of  Penny  Green  is  Chovensbury;  behind 
Tidborough  the  sun  rises. 

Viewed  from  the  high  eminence  of  Northrepps,  Penny 
Green  gave  rather  the  impression  of  having  slipped,  like 
a  sliding  dish,  down  the  slope  and  come  to  rest,  slightly 
tilted,  where  its  impetus  had  ceased.  It  was  certainly  at 
rest:  it  had  a  restful  air;  and  it  had  certainly  slipped  out 
of  the  busier  trafficking  of  its  surrounding  world,  the 
main  road  from  Chovensbury  to  Tidborough,  coming 
from  greater  cities  even  than  these  and  proceeding  to 
greater,  ran  far  above  it,  beyond  Northrepps.  The  main 
road  rather  slighted  than  acknowledged  Penny  Green  by 
the  nerveless  and  shrunken  feeler  which,  a  mile  beyond 
Chovensbury,  it  extended  in  Penny  Green's  direction. 

This  splendid  main  road  in  the  course  of  its  immense 
journey  across  Southern  England,  extended  feelers  to 


10  IF    WINTER    COMES 

many  settlements  of  man,  providing  them  as  it  were  with 
a  talent  which,  according  to  the  energy  of  the  settlement, 
might  be  increased  a  hundredfold — drained,  metalled, 
tarred,  and  adorned  with  splendid  telegraph  poles  and 
wires  —  or  might  be  wrapped  up  in  a  napkin  of  neglect, 
monstrous  overgrown  hedges  and  decayed  ditches,  and 
allowed  to  wither :  the  splendid  main  road,  having  regard 
to  its  ancient  Roman  lineage,  disdainfully  did  not  care 
tuppence  either  way;  and  for  that  matter  Penny  Green, 
which  had  ages  ago  put  its  feeler  in  a  napkin,  did  not 
care  tuppence  either. 

It  was  now,  however,  to  have  a  railway. 

And  meanwhile  there  was  this  to  be  said  for  it :  that 
whereas  some  of  the  dependents  of  the  splendid  main 
road  constituted  themselves  abominably  ugly  carbuncles 
on  the  end  of  shapely  and  well-manicured  fingers  of  the 
main  road,  Penny  Green,  at  the  end  of  a  withered  and 
entirely  neglected  finger,  adorned  it  as  with  a  jewel. 


Ill 

A  Kate  Greenaway  picture,  the  garrulous  Hapgood 
had  said  of  Penny  Green;  and  it  was  well  said.  At  its 
eastern  extremity  the  withered  talent  from  the  splendid 
main  road  divided  into  two  talents  and  encircled  the 
Green  which  had,  as  Hapgood  had  said,  a  cricket  pitch 
(in  summer)  and  a  duck  pond  (more  prominent  in 
winter)  ;  also,  in  all  seasons,  and  the  survivors  of  many 
ages,  a  clump  of  elm  trees  surrounded  by  a  decayed 
bench;  a  well  surrounded  by  a  decayed  paling,  so  de 
cayed  that  it  had  long  ago  thrown  itself  flat  on  the  ground 
into  which  it  continued  venerably  to  decay;  and  at  the 
southeastern  extremity  a  village  pound  surrounded  by  a 
decayed  grey  wall  and  now  used  by  the  youth  of  the 


IF    WINTER   COMES  H 

village  for  the  purpose  of  impounding  one  another  in 
parties  or  sides  in  a  game  well  called  "  Pound  I." 

At  the  southwestern  extremity  of  the  Green,  and  im 
mediately  opposite  the  Tybar  Arms,  was  a  blacksmith's 
forge  perpetually  inhabited  and  directed  by  a  race  named 
Wirk.  The  forge  was  the  only  human  habitation  or 
personal  and  individual  workshop  actually  on  the  Green, 
and  it  was  said,  and  freely  admitted  by  the  successive 
members  of  the  tribe  of  Wirk,  that  it  had  "  no  right " 
to  be  there.  There  it  nevertheless  was,  had  been  for 
centuries,  so  far  as  anybody  knew  to  the  contrary,  and 
administered  always  by  a  Wirk.  In  some  mysterious 
way  which  nobody  ever  seemed  to  recognize  till  it  ac 
tually  happened  there  was  always  a  son  Wirk  to  con 
tinue  the  forge  when  the  father  Wirk  died  and  was 
carried  off  to  be  deposited  by  his  fathers  who  had  con 
tinued  it  before  him.  It  was  also  said  in  the  village,  as 
touching  this  matter  of  "  no  right ",  that  nobody  could 
understand  how  the  forge  ever  came  to  be  there  and  that 
it  certainly  would  be  turned  off  one  day;  and  with  this 
also  the  current  members  of  the  tribe  of  Wirk  cordially 
agreed.  They  understood  less  than  anybody  how  they 
ever  came  to  be  there,  and  they  knew  perfectly  well  they 
would  be  turned  off  one  day ;  saying  which  —  and  it  was 
a  common  subject  of  debate  among  village  sires  of  a  sum 
mer  evening,  seated  outside  the  Tybar  Arms  —  saying 
which,  the  Wirk  of  the  day  would  gaze  earnestly  up  the 
road  and  look  at  his  watch  as  if  the  power  which  would 
turn  him  off  was  then  on  its  way  and  was  getting  a  bit 
overdue. 

The  present  representatives  of  the  tribe  of  Wirk  were 
known  as  Old  Wirk  and  Young  Wirk.  Young  Wirk 
was  sixty-seven.  No  one  knew  where  a  still  younger 
Wirk  would  come  from  when  Old  Wirk  died  and  when 
Young  Wirk  died.  But  no  one  troubled  to  know.  No  one 


12  IF    WINTER    COMES 

knows,  precisely,  where  the  next  Pope  is  coming  from, 
but  he  always  comes,  and  successive  Wirks  appeared  as 
surely.  Old  Wirk  was  past  duty  at  the  forge  now. 
He  sat  on  a  Windsor  chair  all  day  and  watched  Young 
Wirk.  When  the  day  was  finished  Old  Wirk  and  Young 
Wirk  would  walk  across  the  Green  to  the  pound,  not  to 
gether,  but  Old  Wirk  in  front  and  Young  Wirk  immedi 
ately  behind  him ;  both  with  the  same  gait,  bent  and  with 
a  stick.  On  reaching  the  pound  they  would  gaze  pro 
foundly  into  it  over  the  decayed,  grey  wall,  rather  as  if 
they  were  looking  to  see  if  the  power  that  was  going  to 
turn  out  the  forge  was  there,  and  then,  the  power  ap 
parently  not  being  there,  they  would  return,  trailing  back 
in  the  same  single  file,  and  take  up  their  reserved  posi 
tions  on  the  bench  before  the  Tybar  Arms. 

IV 

Mark  Sabre,  intensely  fond  of  Penny  Green,  had 
reflected  upon  it  sometimes  as  a  curious  thing  that  there 
was  scarcely  one  of  the  village's  inhabitants  or  institu 
tions  but  had  evidenced  little  differences  of  attitude  be 
tween  himself  and  Mabel,  who  was  not  intensely  fond  of 
Penny  Green.  The  aged  Wirks  had  served  their  turn. 
Mabel  had  once  considered  the  Wirks  extremely  pic 
turesque  and,  quite  early  in  their  married  life,  had 
invited  them  to  her  house  that  she  might  photograph  them 
for  her  album. 

They  arrived,  in  single  file,  but  she  did  not  photograph 
them  for  her  album.  The  photograph  was  not  taken  be 
cause  Mark,  when  they  presented  themselves,  expressed 
surprise  that  the  aged  pair  were  led  off  by  the  parlour 
maid  to  have  tea  in  the  kitchen.  Why  on  earth  did  n't 
they  have  tea  with  them,  with  himself  and  Mabel,  in  the 
garden  ? 


IF   WINTER    COMES  13 

Mabel  did  what  Sabre  called  "  flew  up  " ;  and  at  the 
summit  of  her  flight  up  inquired,  "  Suppose  some  one 
called?" 

"  Well,  suppose  they  did  ?  "  Sabre  inquired. 

Mabel  in  a  markedly  calm  voice  then  gave  certain  or 
ders  to  the  maid,  who  had  brought  out  the  tea  and  re 
mained  while  the  fate  of  the  aged  Wirks  was  in  suspense. 

The  maid  departed  with  the  orders  and  Sabre  com 
mented,  "  Sending  them  off?  Well,  I  'm  dashed!  " 

Half  an  hour  later  the  aged  pair,  having  been  led  into 
the  kitchen  and  having  had  tea  there,  were  led  out  again 
and  released  by  the  maid  on  to  the  village  Green  rather  as 
if  they  were  two  old  ducks  turned  out  to  grass. 

Sabre,  watching  them  from  the  lawn  beside  the  tea 
cups,  laughed  and  said,  "  What  a  dashed  stupid  business. 
They  might  have  had  tea  on  the  roof  for  all  I  care." 

Mabel  tinkled  a  little  silver  bell  for  the  maid.  Ting-a- 
ling-ting  ! 


V 

The  houses  of  Penny  Green  carried  out  the  Kate 
Greenaway  effect  that  the  Green  itself  established.  Along 
the  upper  road  of  the  tilted  dish  were  the  larger  houses, 
and  upon  the  lower  road  mostly  the  cottages  of  the  vil 
lagers  ;  also  upon  the  lower  road  the  five  shops  of  Penny 
Green:  the  butcher's  shop  which  was  opened  on  Tues 
days  and  Fridays  by  a  butcher  who  came  in  from  Tid- 
borough  with  a  spanking  horse  in  front  of  him  and  half 
a  week's  supply  of  meat  behind  and  beneath  him;  the 
grocer's  shop  and  the  draper's  shop  which,  like  enormous 
affairs  in  London,  were  also  a  large  number  of  other 
shops  but,  unlike  the  London  affairs,  dispensed  them  all 
within  the  one  shop  and  over  the  one  counter.  In  the 


14  IF   WINTER    COMES 

grocer's  shop  you  could  be  handed  into  one  hand  a  pound 
of  tea  and  into  the  other  a  pair  of  boots,  a  convenience 
which,  after  all,  is  not  to  be  had  in  all  Oxford  Street. 
The  draper's  shop,  carrying  the  principle  further,  would 
not  only  dress  you;  post-office  you;  linoleum,  rug  and 
wall  paper  you ;  ink,  pencil  and  note  paper  you ;  but  would 
also  bury  you  and  tombstone  you,  a  solemnity  which  it 
was  only  called  upon  to  perform  for  anybody  about  once 
in  five  years  —  Penny  Green  being  long-lived  —  but  was 
always  ready  and  anxious  to  carry  out.  Indeed  in  the 
back  room  of  his  shop,  the  draper,  Mr.  Pinnock,  had  a 
coffin  which  he  had  been  trying  (as  he  said)  "to  work 
off "  for  twenty-two  years.  It  represented  Mr.  Pin- 
nock's  single  and  disastrous  essay  in  sharp  business. 
Two  and  twenty  years  earlier  Old  Wirk  had  been  not 
only  dying  but  "  as  good  as  dead."  Mr.  Pinnock  on  a 
stock-replenishing  excursion  in  Tidborough,  had  bought 
a  coffin,  at  the  undertaker's,  of  a  size  to  fit  Old  Wirk, 
and  for  the  reason  that,  buying  it  then,  he  could  convey 
it  back  on  the  wagon  he  had  hired  for  the  day  and  thus 
save  carriage.  He  had  brought  it  back,  and  the  first 
person  he  had  set  eyes  on  in  Penny  Green  was  no  other 
than  Old  Wirk  himself,  miraculously  recovered  and 
stubbornly  downstairs  and  sunning  at  his  door.  The 
shock  had  nearly  caused  Mr.  Pinnock  to  qualify  for  the 
coffin  himself;  but  he  had  not,  nor  had  any  other 
inhabitant  of  suitable  size  since  demised.  Longer  per 
sons  than  Old  Wirk  had  died,  and  much  shorter  and 
much  stouter  persons  than  Old  Wirk  had  died.  But  the 
coffin  had  remained.  Up-ended  and  neatly  fitted  with 
shelves,  it  served  as  a  store  cupboard,  without  a  door, 
pending  its  proper  use.  But  it  was  a  terribly  expensive 
store  cupboard  and  it  stood  in  Mr.  Pinnock's  parlour  as  a 
gloomy  monument  to  the  folly  of  rash  and  hazardous 
speculation. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  15 


VI 

Penny  Green,  like  Rome,  had  not  been  built  in  a  day. 
The  houses  of  the  Penny  Green  Garden  Home,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  being  run  up  in  as  near  to  a  day  as  en 
thusiastic  developers,  feverish  contractors  (vying  one 
with  another)  and  impatient  tenants  could  encompass. 
Nor  was  Penny  Green  built  for  a  day.  The  houses  and 
cottages  of  Penny  Green  had  been  built  under  the  influ 
ence  of  many  and  different  styles  of  architecture;  and 
they  had  been  built  not  only  by  people  who  intended  to 
live  in  them,  and  proposed  to  be  roomy  and  well  cup- 
boarded  and  stoutly  beamed  and  floored  in  them,  but 
who,  not  foreseeing  restless  and  railwayed  generations, 
built  them  to  endure  for  the  children  of  their  children's 
children  and  for  children  yet  beyond.  Sabre's  house  was 
of  grey  stone  and  it  presented  over  the  doorway  the  date 
1667. 

"  Nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,"  Mabel  had  once 
said. 

"  And  I  bet,"  Sabre  had  replied,  "  it 's  never  been  bet 
ter  kept  or  run  than  you  run  it  now,  Mabel." 

The  tribute  was  well  deserved.  Mabel,  who  was  in 
many  ways  a  model  woman,  was  preeminently  a  model 
housewife.  "  Crawshaws  "  was  spotlessly  kept  and  per 
fectly  administered.  Four  living  rooms,  apart  from  the 
domestic  offices,  were  on  the  ground  floor.  One  was  the 
morning  room,  in  which  they  principally  lived;  one  the 
dining  room  and  one  the  drawing-room.  They  were  en 
tered  by  enormously  heavy  doors  of  oak,  fitted  with 
latches,  the  drawing-room  up  two  steps,  the  dining  room 
down  one  step  and  the  morning  room  and  the  fourth  room 
on  the  level.  All  were  low-beamed  and  many-windowed 
with  lattice  windows;  all  were  stepped  into  as  stepping 


16  IF   WINTER    COMES 

into  a  very  quiet  place,  and  somehow  into  a  room  which 
one  had  not  expected  to  be  there,  or  not  quite  that  shape 
if  a  room  were  there.  Sabre  never  quite  lost  that  feeling 
of  pleasant  surprise  on  entering  them.  They  had  more 
over,  whether  due  to  the  skill  of  the  architect  or  the 
sagacity  of  Mabel,  the  admirable,  but  rare  attribute  of 
being  cool  in  summer  and  warm  in  winter. 

The  only  room  in  the  house  which  Sabre  did  not  like 
was  the  fourth  sitting  room  on  the  ground  floor;  and 
it  was  his  own  room,  furnished  and  decorated  by  Mabel 
for  his  own  particular  use  and  comfort.  But  she  called 
it  his  "  den  ",  and  Sabre  loathed  and  detested  the  word 
den  as  applied  to  a  room  a  man  specially  inhabits.  It 
implied  to  him  a  masculine  untidiness,  and  he  was  in 
tensely  orderly  and  hated  untidiness.  It  implied  customs 
and  manners  of  what  he  called  "  boarding-house  ideas  ", 
—  the  idea  that  a  man  must  have  an  untidily  comfortable 
apartment  into  which  he  can  retire  and  envelop  himself 
in  tobacco  smoke,  and  where  he  "  can  have  his  own 
things  around  him  ",  and  "  have  his  pipes  and  his  pic 
tures  about  him ",  and  where  he  can  wear  "  an  old 
shooting  jacket  and  slippers  ",  —  and  he  loathed  and  de 
tested  all  these  phrases  and  the  ideas  they  connoted.  He 
had  no  "  old  shooting  jacket "  and  he  would  have  given 
it  to  the  gardener  if  he  had;  and  he  detested  wearing 
slippers  and  never  did  wear  slippers;  it  was  his  habit  to 
put  on  his  boots  after  his  bath  and  to  keep  them  on  till 
he  put  on  shoes  when  changing  for  dinner.  Above  all, 
he  loathed  and  detested  the  vision  which  the  word  "  den  " 
always  conjured  up  to  him.  This  was  a  vision  of  the 
door  of  a  typical  den  being  opened  by  a  wife,  and  of  the 
wife  saying  in  a  mincing  voice,  "  This  is  George  in  his 
den,"  and  of  boarding-house  females  peering  over  the 
wife's  shoulder  and  smiling  fatuously  at  the  denizen 
who,  in  an  old  shooting  jacket  and  slippers,  grinned 


IF    WINTER    COMES  17 

vacuously  back  at  them.  To  Mark  this  was  a  horrible 
and  unspeakable  vision. 

Mabel  could  not  in  the  least  understand  it,  and  com 
mon  sense  and  common  custom  were  entirely  on  her 
side;  Mark  admitted  that.  The  ridiculous  and  trivial 
affair  only  took  on  a  deeper  significance  —  not  apparent 
to  Mark  at  the  time,  but  apparent  later  —  in  the  fact  that 
he  could  not  make  Mabel  understand  his  attitude. 

The  matter  of  the  den  and  another  matter,  touching 
the  servants,  came  up  between  them  in  the  very  earliest 
days  of  their  married  life.  From  London,  on  their  re 
turn  from  their  honeymoon,  Mark  had  been  urgently 
summoned  to  the  sick-bed  of  his  father,  in  Chovensbury. 
Mabel  proceeded  to  Crawshaws.  He  joined  her  a  week 
later,  his  father  happily  recovered.  Mabel  had  been  busy 
*'  settling  things  ",  and  she  took  him  round  the  house  with 
delicious  pride  and  happiness.  Mark,  sharing  both,  had 
his  arm  linked  in  hers.  When  they  came  to  the  fourth 
sitting  room  Mabel  announced  gaily,  "  And  this  is  your 
den!" 

Mark  gave  a  mock  groan.    "  Oh,  lord,  not  den !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  den.    Why  ever  not?  " 

"I  absolutely  can't  stick  den."  He  glanced  about. 
"  Who  on  earth  's  left  those  fearful  old  slippers  there?  " 

"  They  're  a  pair  of  father's.  I  took  them  specially 
for  you  for  this  room.  You  have  n't  got  any  slippers 
like  that." 

He  gazed  upon  the  heels  downtrodden  by  her 
heavy  father.  He  did  not  much  like  her  heavy  father. 
"  No,  I  have  n't,"  he  said,  and  thought  grimly,  "  Thank 
God!" 

"  But,  Mark,  what  do  you  mean,  you  can't  stick 
'den'?" 

He  explained  laughingly.  He  ended,  "It's  just  like 
lounge  hall.  Lounge  hall  makes  me  feel  perfectly  sick. 


18  IF   WINTER    COMES 

You  're  not  going  to  call  the  hall  a  lounge  hall,  are 
you?" 

She  was  quite  serious  and  the  least  little  bit  put  out. 
"No  —  I  'm  not.  But  I  can't  see  why.  I  Ve  never 
heard  such  funny  ideas." 

He  was  vaguely,  transiently  surprised  at  her  attitude 
towards  his  funny  ideas.  "  Well,  come  on,  let 's  see 
upstairs." 

"  Yes,  let 's,  dear." 

He  stepped  out,  and  she  closed  the  door  after  them. 
"  Well,  that 's  your  den." 

As  if  he  had  never  spoken!  A  vague  and  transient 
discomfort  shot  through  him. 

VII 

It  was  when  they  came  down  again,  completely  happy 
and  pleased,  that  the  servant  incident  occurred.  Mabel 
was  down  the  stairs  slightly  before  him  and  turned  a 
smiling  face  up  to  him  as  he  descended.  "  By  Jove,  it 's 
jolly,"  he  said.  "  We  '11  be  happy  here,"  and  he  kissed 
her. 

"  You  'd  better  see  the  kitchen.  It 's  awfully  nice;  " 
and  they  went  along. 

At  the  kitchen  door  she  paused  and  began  in  a  mys 
terious  whisper  a  long  account  of  the  servants.  "  I 
think  they  '11  turn  out  quite  nice  girls.  They  're  sisters, 
you  know,  and  they  're  glad  to  be  in  a  place  together. 
They  Ve  both  got  young  men  in  the  village.  Fancy,  the 
cook  told  me  that  at  Mrs.  Wellington's  where  she  was, 
at  Chovensbury,  she  was  n't  allowed  to  use  soda  for 
washing  up  because  Mrs.  Wellington  fussed  so  fright 
fully  about  the  pattern  on  her  china!  Fancy,  in  their 
family  they  Ve  got  eleven  brothers  and  sisters.  Is  n't  it 
awful  how  those  kind  of  people  —  " 


IF   WINTER   COMES  19 

Her  voice  got  lower  and  lower.  She  seemed  to  Mark 
to  be  quivering  with  some  sort  of  repressed  excitement, 
as  though  the  two  maids  were  some  rare  exhibit  which 
she  had  captured  with  a  net  and  placed  in  the  kitchen,  and 
whom  it  was  rather  thrilling  to  open  the  door  upon  and 
peep  at.  He  could  hardly  hear  her  voice  and  had  to  bend 
his  head.  It  was  dim  in  the  lobby  outside  the  kitchen 
door.  The  dimness,  her  intense  whispers  and  her  excite 
ment  made  him  feel  that  he  was  in  some  mysterious  con 
spiracy  with  her.  The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  house 
and  of  this  tour  of  inspection,  which  had  been  deliciously 
absorbing,  became  mysteriously  conspiratorial,  unpleasing. 

" .  .  .  .  She 's  been  to  a  school  of  cookery  at  Tid- 
borough.  She  attended  the  whole  course !  " 

"Good.    That's  the  stuff!" 

"Hush!" 

Why  hush?     What  a  funny  business  this  was! 

VIII 

Mabel  opened  the  kitchen  door.  "  The  master 's 
come  to  see  how  nice  the  kitchen  looks." 

Two  maids  in  black  dresses  and  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  stiffly  starched  aprons  and  caps  and  stream 
ers  rose  awkwardly  and  bobbed  awkward  little  bows. 
One  was  very  tall,  the  other  rather  short.  The  tall  one 
looked  extraordinarily  severe  and  the  short  one  extraor 
dinarily  glum,  Mark  thought,  to  have  young  men.  Mabel 
looked  from  the  girls  to  Mark  and  from  Mark  to  the 
girls,  precisely  as  if  she  were  exhibiting  rare  specimens 
to  her  husband  and  her  husband  to  her  rare  specimens. 
And  in  the  tone  of  one  exhibiting  pinned,  dried,  and 
completely  impersonal  specimens,  she  announced* 
"  They  're  sisters.  Their  name  is  Jinks." 

Mark,  examining  the  exhibits,  had  been  feeling  like 


20  IF   WINTER   COMES 

a  fool.  Their  name  humanized  them  and  relieved  his 
awkward  feeling.  "  Ha !  Jinks,  eh  ?  High  Jinks  and 
Low  Jinks,  what?"  He  laughed.  It  struck  him  as 
rather  comic;  and  High  Jinks  and  Low  Jinks  tittered 
broadly,  losing  in  the  most  astonishing  way  the  one  her 
severity  and  the  other  her  glumness. 

Mabel  seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  her  interest  in 
her  exhibits  and  their  cage.  She  rather  hurried  Mark 
through  the  kitchen  premises  and,  moving  into  the  gar 
den,  replied  rather  abstractedly  to  his  plans  for  the  gar 
den's  development. 

Suddenly  she  said,  "  Mark,  I  do  wish  you  had  n't 
said  that  in  the  kitchen." 

He  was  mentally  examining  the  possibilities  of  a 
makeshift  racket  court  against  a  corner  of  the  stable 
and  barn.  "Eh,  what  in  the  kitchen,  dear?" 

"  That  about  High  Jinks  and  Low  Jinks." 

"  Mabel,  I  swear  we  could  fix  up  a  topping  sort  of 
squash  rackets  in  that  corner.  Those  cobbles  are  worn 
absolutely  smooth  —  " 

"  I  wish  you  'd  listen  to  me,  Mark." 

He  caught  his  arm  around  her  and  gave  her  a  playful 
squeeze.  "  Sorry,  old  girl,  what  was  it  ?  About  High 
Jinks  and  Low  Jinks?  Ha!  Dashed  funny  that,  don't 
you  think  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.     I  don't  think  it 's  a  bit  funny." 

Her  tone  was  such  that,  relaxing  his  arm,  he  turned 
and  gazed  at  her.  "  Don't  you  ?  Don't  you  really  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.     Far  from  funny." 

Some  instinct  told  him  he  ought  not  to  laugh,  but  he 
could  not  help  it.  The  idea  appealed  to  him  as  distinctly 
and  clearly  comic.  "  Well,  but  it  is  funny.  Don't  you 
see?  High  Jinks  alone  is  such  a  funny  expression  — 
sort  of  —  well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Apart  altogether 
from  Low  Jinks,"  and  he  laughed  again. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  21 

Mabel  compressed  her  lips.  "  I  simply  don't.  Rebecca 
is  not  a  bit  like  High  Jinks." 

He  burst  out  laughing.  "  No,  I  'm  dashed  if  she  is. 
That's  just  it!" 

"  I  really  do  not  see  it." 

"Oh,  go  on,  Mabel!  Of  course  you  do.  You  make 
it  funnier.  High  Jinks  and  Low  Jinks!  I  shall  call 
them  that." 

"  Mark."  She  spoke  the  word  severely  and  paused 
severely.  "  Mark.  I  do  most  earnestly  hope  you  '11  do 
nothing  of  the  kind." 

He  stared,  puzzled.  He  had  tried  to  explain  the 
absurd  thing,  and  she  simply  could  not  see  it.  "I  simply 
don't." 

And  again  that  vague  and  transient  discomfort  shot 
through  him. 

IX 

Sabre  awoke  in  the  course  of  that  night  and  lay 
awake.  The  absurd  incident  came  immediately  into  his 
mind  and  remained  in  his  mind.  High  Jinks  and  Low 
Jinks  was  comic.  '  No  getting  over  it.  Incontestably 
comic.  Stupid,  of  course,  but  just  the  kind  of  stupid 
thing  that  tickled  him  irresistibly.  And  she  could  n't  see 
it.  Absolutely  could  not  see  it.  But  if  she  were  never 
going  to  see  any  of  these  stupid  little  things  that  ap 
pealed  to  him —  ?  And  then  he  wrinkled  his  brows. 
"You  remember  how  he  used  to  wrinkle  up  his  old 
nut,"  as  the  garrulous  Hapgood  had  said. 

A  night-light,  her  wish,  dimly  illumined  the  room. 
He  raised  himself  and  looked  at  her  fondly,  sleeping 
beside  him.  He  thought,  "  Dash  it,  the  thing 's  been 
just  the  same  from  her  point  of  view.  That  den  business. 
She  likes  den,  and  I  can't  stick  den.  Just  the  same  for 


22  IF    WINTER    COMES 

her  as  for  me  that  High  Jinks  and  Low  Jinks  tickles  me 
and  does  n't  tickle  her." 

He  very  gently  moved  with  his  finger  a  tress  of  her 
hair  that  had  fallen  upon  her  face.  .  .  .  Mabel!  .  . 
His  wife!  .  .  .How  gently  beneath  her  filmy  bedgown 
her  bosom  rose  and  fell !  .  .  .  How  utterly  calm  her  face 
was.  How  at  peace,  how  secure,  she  lay  there.  He 
thought,  "  Three  weeks  ago  she  was  sleeping  in  the 
terrific  privacy  of  her  own  room,  and  here  she  is  come 
to  me  in  mine.  Cut  off  from  everything  and  everybody 
and  come  here  to  me." 

An  inexpressible  tenderness  filled  him.  He  had  a  sud 
den  sense  of  the  poignant  and  tremendous  adventure  on 
which  they  were  embarked  together.  They  had  been  two 
lives,  and  now  they  were  one  life,  altering  completely  the 
lives  they  would  have  led  singly :  a  new  sea,  a  new  ship 
on  a  new,  strange  sea.  What  lay  before  them  ? 

She  stirred. 

His  thoughts  continued:  One  life!  One  life  out  of 
two  lives;  one  nature  out  of  two  natures!  Mysterious 
and  extraordinary  metamorphosis.  She  had  brought  her 
nature  to  his,  and  he  his  nature  to  hers,  and  they  were  to 
mingle  and  become  one  nature.  .  .  .  Absurdly  and  inap 
propriately  his  mind  picked  up  and  presented  to  him  the 
grotesque  words,  "  High  Jinks  and  Low  Jinks."  A  note 
of  laughter  was  irresistibly  tickled  out  of  him. 

She  said  very  sleepily,  "  Mark,  are  you  laughing? 
What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  " 

He  patted  her  shoulder.     "  Oh,  nothing." 

One  nature? 


CHAPTER  III 
I 

ONE  nature?  In  the  fifth  year  of  their  married  life 
thoughts  of  her  and  of  the  poignant  and  tremendous  ad 
venture  on  which  they  were  embarked  together  were  no 
longer  possible  while  she  lay  in  bed  beside  him.  They 
had  come  to  occupy  separate  rooms. 

In  the  fifth  year  of  their  married  life  measles  visited 
Penny  Green.  Mabel  caught  it.  Their  bedroom  was 
naturally  the  sick  room.  Sabre  went  to  sleep  in  another 
room,  —  and  the  arrangement  prevailed.  Nothing  was 
said  between  them  on  the  matter,  one  way  or  the  other. 
They  naturally  occupied  different  rooms  during  her  ill 
ness.  She  recovered.  They  continued  to  occupy  differ 
ent  rooms.  It  was  the  most  natural  business  in  the 
world. 

The  sole  reference  to  recognition  of  permanency  in  this 
development  of  the  relations  between  them  was  made 
when  Sabre,  on  the  first  Saturday  afternoon  after  Mabel's 
recovery  —  he  did  not  go  to  his  office  at  Tidborough  on 
Saturdays  —  carried  out  his  idea,  conceived  during  her 
sickness,  of  making  the  bedroom  into  which  he  had  moved 
serve  as  his  study  also.  He  had  never  got  rid  of  his  dis 
taste  for  his  "  den."  He  had  never  felt  quite  comfortable 
there. 

At  lunch  on  this  Saturday,  "  I  tell  you  what  I  'm  going 
to  do  this  afternoon,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  going  to  move  my 
books  up  into  my  room/' 


24  IF    WINTER    COMES 

He  had  been  a  little  afraid  the  den  business  would  be 
reopened  by  this  intention,  but  Mabel's  only  reply  was, 
"  You  'd  better  have  the  maids  help  you." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  get  them." 

"  No,  I  '11  give  the  order,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Right!" 

And  in  the  afternoon  the  books  were  moved,  the  den 
raped  of  them,  his  bedroom  awarded  them.  High  Jinks 
and  Low  Jinks  rather  enjoyed  it,  passing  up  and  down 
the  stairs  with  continuous  smirks  at  this  new  manifesta 
tion  of  the  master's  ways.  The  bookshelves  proved 
rather  a  business.  There  were  four  of  them,  narrow  and 
high.  "  We  '11  carry  these  longways,"  Sabre  directed, 
when  the  first  one  was  tackled.  "  I  '11  shove  it  over. 
You  two  take  the  top,  and  I  '11  carry  the  foot." 

In  this  order  they  struggled  up  the  stairs,  High  Jinks 
and  Low  Jinks  backwards,  and  the  smirks  enlarged  into 
panting  giggles.  Halfway  up  came  a  loud  crack. 

"What  the  devil 's  that?"  said  Sabre,  sweating  and 
gasping. 

"  I  think  it 's  the  back  of  my  dress,  sir,"  said  High 
Jinks. 

"Good  lord!"  (Convulsive  giggles.)  "You  know, 
Low,  you  're  practically  sitting  on  the  dashed  thing. 
You  've  twisted  yourself  round  in  some  extraordinary 
way  —  " 

Agonising  giggles. 

Mabel  appeared  in  the  hall  beneath.  "  Raise  it  up, 
Rebecca.  Raise  it,  Sarah.  How  can  you  expect  to 
move,  stooping  like  that?  " 

They  raised  it  to  the  level  of  their  waists,  and  progres 
sion  became  seemly. 

"  There  you  are !  "  said  Sabre. 

There  was  somehow  a  feeling  at  both  ends  of  the  book* 
ease  of  having  been  caught. 


IF   WINTER-  COMES  25 

II 

Sabre  liked  this  room.  Three  latticed  windows,  in  the 
same  wall,  looked  on  to  the  garden.  In  the  spaces  be 
tween  them,  and  in  the  two  spaces  between  the  end  win 
dows  and  the  end  walls,  he  placed  his  bookshelves,  a  set 
of  shelves  in  each  space. 

Mabel  displayed  no  interest  in  the  move  nor  made  any 
reference  to  it  at  teatime.  In  the  evening,  hearing  her 
pass  the  door  on  her  way  to  dress  for  dinner,  he  called 
her  in. 

He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  arranging  the  books. 
"  There  you  are !  Not  bad  ?  " 

She  regarded  them  and  the  room.  "  They  look  all 
right.  All  the  same,  I  must  say  it  seems  rather  funny 
using  your  bedroom  for  your  things  when  you  've  got  a 
room  downstairs." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  never  liked  that  room,  you  know.  I 
hardly  ever  go  into  it." 

"  I  know  you  don't." 

And  she  went  off. 

Ill 

But  the  significance  of  the  removal  rested  not  in  the 
definite  relinquishment  of  the  den,  but  in  her  words 
"  using  your  bedroom  " :  the  definite  recognition  of  sep 
arate  rooms. 

And  neither  commented  upon  it. 

After  all,  landmarks,  in  the  course  of  a  journey,  are 
more  frequently  observed  and  noted  as  landmarks,  when 
looking  back  along  the  journey,  than  when  actually  pass 
ing  them.  They  belong  generically  to  the  past  tense ;  one 
rarely  says,  "  This  is  a  landmark  " ;  usually  "  That  was 
a  landmark." 


26  IF    WINTER    COMES 

IV 

The  bookcases  were  of  Sabre's  own  design.  He  was 
extraordinarily  fond  of  his  books  and  he  had  ideas  about 
their  arrangement.  The  lowest  shelf  was  in  each  case 
three  feet  from  the  ground;  he  hated  books  being  "  down 
where  you  can't  see  them."  Also  the  cases  were  open, 
without  glass  doors;  he  hated  "having  to  fiddle  to  get 
out  a  book."  He  liked  them  to  be  just  at  the  right  height 
and  straight  to  his  hand.  In  a  way  he  could  not  quite  de 
scribe  (he  was  a  bad  talker,  framing  his  ideas  with  diffi 
culty)  he  was  attached  to  his  books,  not  only  for  what 
was  in  them,  but  as  entities.  He  had  written  once  in  a 
manuscript  book  in  which  he  sometimes  wrote  things, 
"  I  like  the  feel  of  them  and  I  know  the  feel  of  them  in 
the  same  way  as  one  likes  and  knows  the  feel  of  a  friend's 
hand.  And  I  can  look  at  them  and  read  them  without 
opening  them  in  the  same  way  as,  without  his  speaking, 
one  looks  at  and  can  enjoy  the  face  of  a  friend.  I  feel 
towards  them  when  I  look  at  them  in  the  shelves,  —  well, 
as  if  they  were  feeling  towards  me  just  as  I  am  feeling 
towards  them."  And  he  had  added  this  touch,  which  is 
perhaps  more  illuminating.  "  The  other  day  some  one 
had  had  out  one  of  my  books  and  returned  it  upside 
down.  I  swear  it  was  as  grotesque  and  painful  to  me  to 
see  it  upside  down  as  if  I  had  come  into  the  room  and 
found  my  brother  standing  on  his  head  against  the  wall, 
fastened  there.  At  least  I  could  n't  have  sprung  to  him  to 
release  him  quicker  than  I  did  to  the  book  to  upright  it." 

The  first  book  he  had  ever  bought  "  specially  "  —  that 
is  to  say  not  as  one  buys  a  bun  but  as  one  buys  a  dog  — 
was  at  the  age  of  seventeen  when  he  had  bought  a  Byron, 
the  Complete  Works  in  a  popular  edition  of  very  great 
bulk  and  very  small  print.  He  bought  it  partly  because 
of  what  he  had  heard  during  his  last  term  at  school  of 


IF    WINTER    COMES  27 

Don  Juan,  partly  because  he  had  picked  up  the  idea  that 
it  was  rather  a  fine  thing  to  read  poetry;  and  he  kept  it 
and  read  it  in  great  secrecy  because  his  mother  (to  whom 
he  mentioned  his  intention)  told  him  that  Byron  ought 
not  to  be  read  and  that  her  father,  in  her  girlhood,  had 
picked  up  Byron  with  the  tongs  and  burnt  him  in  the 
garden.  This  finally  determined  him  to  buy  Byron. 

He  began  to  read  it  precisely  as  he  was  accustomed  to 
read  books,  —  that  is  to  say  at  the  beginning  and  thence 
steadily  onwards.  "  On  the  Death  of  a  Young  Lady  " 
(Admiral  Parker's  daughter,  explained  a  footnote) ;  "  To 

E " ;  "  To  D "  and  so  on.  There  were  seven 

hundred  and  eight  pages  of  this  kind  of  thing  and  Don 
Juan  was  at  the  end,  in  the  five  hundreds. 

When  he  had  laboriously  read  thirty-six  pages  he  de 
cided  that  it  was  not  a  fine  thing  to  read  poetry,  and  he 
moved  on  to  Don  Juan,  page  five  hundred  and  thirty-three. 
The  rhymes  surprised  him.  He  had  no  idea  that  poetry 
—  poetry  —  rhymed  "  annuities  "  with  "  true  it  is  "  and 
"  Jew  it  is."  He  turned  on  and  numbered  the  cantos,  — 
sixteen;  and  then  the  number  of  verses  in  each  canto  and 
the  total,  —  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  eighty  .  .  . 
Who-o-o!  ...  It  was  as  endless  as  the  seven  hundred 
and  eight  pages  had  appeared  when  he  had  staggered  as 
far  as  page  thirty-six.  He  began  to  hunt  for  the  particu 
lar  verses  which  had  caused  Don  Juan  to  be  recommended 
to  him  and  presumably  had  caused  his  grandfather  to 
carry  out  Byron  with  the  tongs  and  burn  him  in  the 
garden.  He  could  not  find  them.  He  chucked  the  rot 
ten  thing. 

But  as  he  was  putting  the  rotten  thing  away,  his  eye 
happened  upon  two  lines  that  struck  into  him  —  it  was 
like  a  physical  blow  —  the  most  extraordinary  sensation : 

The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece 
Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung. 


28  IF   WINTER    COMES 

He  caught  his  breath.  It  was  extraordinary.  What 
the  dickens  was  it?  A  vision  of  exquisite  and  unearthly 
and  brilliantly  coloured  beauty  seemed  to  be  before  his 
eyes.  Islands,  all  white  and  green  and  in  a  sea  of  ter 
rific  blue.  .  .  .  And  music,  the  thin  note  of  distant 
trumpets.  .  .  .  Amazing !  He  read  on.  "  Where  Delos 
rose  and  Phoebus  sprung!  Eternal  Summer  gilds  them 
yet."  Terrific,  but  not  quite  so  terrific.  And  then  again 
the  terrific,  the  stunning,  the  heart-clutching  thing.  On 
a  different  note,  with  a  different  picture,  coloured  in 
grays. 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon  — 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea. 

Music!  The  trumpets  thinned  away,  exquisitely  thin, 
tiny,  gone!  And  high  above  the  mountains  and  far 
upon  the  sea  an  organ  shook. 

He  said,  "  Well,  I  Jm  dashed !  "  and  put  the  book  away. 


It  was  years  after  the  Byron  episode  —  after  he  had 
come  down  from  Cambridge,  after  he  had  travelled  fairly 
widely,  and  luckily,  as  tutor  to  a  delicate  boy,  and  after 
he  had  settled  down,  from  his  father's  house  at  Chovens- 
bury,  to  learn  the  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  business  that 
he  began  to  collect  the  books  which  now  formed  his  col 
lection.  His  intense  fondness  for  books  had  come  to  him 
late  in  life,  as  love  of  literature  goes.  He  was  reading 
at  twenty-eight  and  thirty  literature  which,  when  it  is 
read  at  all,  is  as  a  rule  read  ten  years  younger  because  the 
taste  is  there  and  is  voracious  for  satisfaction,  —  as  a 
young  and  vigorous  animal  for  its  meals.  But  at  twenty- 
eight  and  thirty,  reading  for  the  first  time,  he  read  some 
times  with  a  sense  of  revelation,  always  with  an  enor- 


IF   WINTER   COMES  29 

mous  satisfaction.  Especially  the  poets.  And  con 
stantly  in  the  poets  he  was  coming  across  passages  the 
sheer  beauty  of  which  shook  him  precisely  as  the  Byron 
lines  had  first  shaken  him. 

His  books  appeared  to  indicate  a  fair  number  and  a 
fair  diversity  of  interests;  but  their  diversity  presented 
to  him  a  common  quality  or  group  of  qualities.  Some 
history,  some  sociology,  some  Spencer,  some  Huxley, 
some  Haeckel,  a  small  textbook  of  geology,  a  consider 
able  proportion  of  pure  literature,  Morley's  edition  of 
lives  of  literary  men,  the  English  essayists  in  a  nice  set, 
Shakespeare  in  many  forms  and  so  much  poetry  that  at  a 
glance  his  library  was  all  poetry.  All  the  books  were 
picked  up  at  second-hand  dealers'  in  Tidborough,  none 
had  cost  more  than  a  few  shillings.  The  common  quality 
that  bound  them  was  that  they  stirred  in  him  imaginative 
thought:  they  presented  images,  they  suggested  causes, 
they  revealed  processes;  the  common  group  of  qualities 
to  which  they  ministered  were  beauty  and  mystery,  sensi 
bility  and  wonder.  They  made  him  think  about  things, 
and  he  liked  thinking  about  things;  the  poets  filled  his 
mind  with  beauty,  and  he  was  strangely  stirred  by  beauty. 

VI 

Here,  in  the  effect  upon  him  of  beauty  and  of  ideas 
communicated  to  his  mind  by  his  reading  —  first  mani 
fested  to  him  by  the  Byron  revelation  —  was  the  mark 
and  label  of  his  individuality :  here  was  the  linking  up  of 
the  boy  who  as  Puzzlehead  Sabre  would  wrinkle  up  his 
nut  and  say,  "  Well,  I  can't  quite  see  that,  sir,"  with  the 
man  in  whom  the  same  habit  persisted ;  he  saw  much  more 
clearly  and  infinitely  more  intensely  with  his  mind  than 
with  his  eye.  Beauty  of  place  imagined  was  to  him  in 
finitely  more  vivid  than  beauty  seen.  And  so  in  all 


30  IF    WINTER    COMES 

affairs :  it  was  not  what  the  eye  saw  or  the  ear  heard  that 
interested  him;  it  was  what  his  mind  saw,  questing  be 
hind  the  scene  and  behind  the  speech,  that  interested  him, 
and  often,  by  the  intensity  of  its  perception,  shook  him. 
And  precisely  as  beauty  touched  in  him  the  most  exquisite 
and  poignant  depths,  so  evil  surroundings,  evil  faces  dis 
mayed  him  to  the  point  of  mysterious  fear,  almost  ter 
ror — 

On  a  Sunday  of  his  honeymoon  in  London  he  had  con 
ceived  with  Mabel  the  idea  of  a  bus  ride  through  the 
streets,  —  "  anywhere,  the  first  bus  that  comes."  The 
first  bus  that  came  took  them  through  South  London, 
dodged  between  main  roads  and  took  them  through  miles 
of  mean  and  sordid  dwelling  houses.  At  open  windows 
high  up  sat  solitary  women,  at  others  solitary,  shirt- 
sleeved  men;  behind  closed  windows  were  the  faces  of 
children.  All  staring,  —  women  and  men  and  children, 
impassively  prisoned,  impassively  staring.  Each  house 
door  presented,  one  above  the  other,  five  or  six  iron  bell- 
knobs,  some  hanging  out  and  downwards,  as  if  their 
necks  were  broken.  On  the  pavements  hardly  a  soul. 
Just  street  upon  street  of  these  awful  houses  with  their 
imprisoned  occupants  and  the  doors  with  their  string 
of  crazy  bells. 

An  appalling  and  abysmal  depression  settled  upon 
Sabre.  He  imagined  himself  pulling  the  dislocated  neck 
of  one  of  those  bells  and  stepping  into  what  festered  be 
hind  those  sinister  doors :  the  dark  and  malodorous  stair 
ways,  the  dark  and  malodorous  rooms,  their  prisoned 
occupants  opening  their  prisons  and  staring  at  him,  — 
those  women,  those  men,  those  children.  He  imagined 
himself  in  one  of  those  rooms,  saw  it,  felt  it,  smelt  it. 
He  imagined  himself  cutting  his  throat  in  one  of  those 
rooms. 

At  tea  in  their  hotel  on  their  return  Mabel  chattered 


IF    WINTER    COMES  31 

animatedly  on  all  they  had  seen.  "  I  'm  awfully  glad  we 
went.  I  think  it 's  a  very  good  thing  to  know  for  one 
self  just  how  that  side  of  life  lives.  Those  awful  people 
at  the  windows !  "  —  and  she  laughed.  He  noticed  for 
the  first  time  what  a  sudden  laugh  she  had,  rather  loud. 

Sabre  agreed.  "  Yes,  I  think  it 's  a  good  thing  to  have 
an  idea  of  their  lives.  I  can't  say  I  'm  glad  I  went, 
though.  You  've  no  idea  how  awfully  depressed  that 
kind  of  thing  makes  me  feel." 

She  laughed  again.  "  Depressed !  How  ever  can  it  ? 
How  funny  you  must  be !  " 

Then  she  said,  "  Yes,  I  'm  glad  I  've  seen  for  myself. 
You  know,  when  those  sort  of  people  come  into  your 
service  —  the  airs  they  give  themselves  and  the  way  they 
demand  the  best  of  everything  —  and  then  when  you 
see  the  kind  of  homes  they  come  from  —  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  makes  you  think,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  It  does! " 

But  what  it  made  Sabre  think  was  entirely  different 
from  what  it  made  Mabel  think. 

VII 

"  Puzzlehead  "  they  had  called  him  at  his  preparatory 
school,  —  Old  Puzzlehead  Sabre,  the  chap  who  always 
wrinkled  up  his  nut  over  things  and  came  out  with  the 
most  extraordinary  ideas.  He  had  remained,  and  in 
creasingly  become,  the  puzzler.  And  precisely  as  he 
ceased  to  share  a  room  with  Mabel  and  carried  himself 
with  satisfaction  to  his  own  apartment,  so,  by  this  fifth 
year  of  his  married  life,  he  had  come  to  know  well  that 
he  shared  no  thoughts  with  her :  he  carried  them,  with 
increasing  absorption  in  their  interest,  to  the  processes  of 
his  own  mind. 

An  incident  of  those  early  school  days  had  always  re- 


32  IF    WINTER    COMES 

mained  with  him,  in  its  exact  words.  The  exact  words 
of  a  selectly  famous  professor  of  philosophy  who,  living 
the  few  years  of  his  retirement  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  preparatory  school,  had  given —  for  pure  love  of  see 
ing  young  things  and  feeling  the  freshness  of  young  minds 
—  a  weekly  "  talk  on  things  "  to  the  small  schoolboys. 
And  whatever  the  subject  of  his  talk,  he  almost  invari 
ably  would  work  off  his  familiar  counsel : 

"  And  a  very  good  thing  (he  used  to  say),  an  excellent 
thing,  the  very  best  of  practices,  is  to  write  a  little  every 
day.  Just  a  little  scrap,  but  cultivate  the  habit  of  doing 
it  every  day.  I  don't  mean  what  is  called  keeping  a 
diary,  you  know.  Don't  write  what  you  do.  There  's 
no  benefit  in  that.  We  do  things  for  all  kinds  of  reasons 
and  it 's  the  reasons,  not  the  things,  that  matter.  Let 
your  little  daily  scrap  be  something  you  've  thought. 
What  you  've  done  belongs  partly  to  some  one  else;  often 
you  're  made  to  do  it.  But  what  you  think  is  you  your 
self  :  you  write  it  down  and  there  it  is,  a  tiny  little  bit  of 
you  that  you  can  look  at  and  say/  Well,  really ! '  You 
see,  a  little  bit  like  that,  written  every  day,  is  a  mirror  in 
which  you  can  see  your  real  self  and  correct  your  real 
self.  A  looking-glass  shows  you  your  face  is  dirty  or 
your  hair  rumpled,  and  you  go  and  polish  up.  But  it 's 
ever  so  much  more  important  to  have  a  mirror  that  shows 
you  how  your  real  self,  your  mind,  your  spirit,  is  looking. 
Just  see  if  you  can't  do  it.  A  little  scrap.  It 's  very 
steadying;  very  steadying  .  .  ." 

And  his  small  hearers,  desiring,  like  young  colts  in  a 
field,  nothing  so  little  as  anything  steadying,  paid  as  much 
attention  to  this  "  jaw  "  as  to  any  precept  not  supported 
by  cane  or  imposition.  They  made  of  it,  indeed,  a  popu 
lar  school  joke,  "  Oh,  go  and  write  a  little  every  day  and 
boil  yourself,  you  ass !  "  But  it  appealed,  dimly,  to  the 
reflective  quality  in  the  child  Sabre's  mind.  He  con- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  33 

tracted  the  habit  of  writing,  in  a  "  bagged  "  exercise  book, 
sentences  beginning  laboriously  with  "  I  thought  to-day 
— ."  It  remained  with  him,  as  he  grew  up,  in  the  prac 
tice  of  writing  sometimes  ideas  that  occurred  to  him,  as 
in  the  case  of  his  feelings  about  his  books  and  —  much 
more  strongly  —  in  deliberately  thinking  out  ideas. 

"  You  yourself.     The  real  you." 

In  the  increasing  solitariness  of  his  married  life,  it 
came  to  be  something  into  which  he  could  retire,  as  into 
a  private  chamber ;  which  he  could  put  on,  as  a  garment : 
and  in  the  privacy  of  the  chamber,  or  within  the  sleeves 
of  the  garment,  he  received  a  sense  of  detachment  from 
normal  life  in  which,  vaguely,  he  pondered  things. 

VIII 

Vaguely,  —  without  solution  of  most  of  the  problems 
that  puzzled  him,  and  without  even  definite  knowledge  of 
the  line  along  which  solution  might  lie.  Here,  in  these 
cloisters  of  another  world  —  his  own  world  —  he  paced 
among  his  ideas  as  a  man  might  pace  around  the  dis 
mantled  and  scattered  intricacies  of  an  intricate  machine, 
knowing  the  parts  could  be  put  together  and  the  thing 
worked  usefully,  not  knowing  how  on  earth  it  could  be 
done  .  .  .  "  This  goes  in  there,  and  that  goes  in  there, 
but  how  on  earth  —  ?  '*  Here,  into  these  cloisters,  he 
dragged  the  parts  of  all  the  puzzles  that  perplexed  him; 
his  relations  with  Mabel ;  his  sense,  in  a  hundred  ways  as 
they  came  up,  of  the  odd  business  that  life  was;  his  strong 
interest  in  the  social  and  industrial  problems,  and  in  the 
political  questions  from  time  to  time  before  the  public 
attention. 

He  could  be  imagined  assembling  the  parts,  dragging 
them  in,  checking  them  over,  slamming  the  door,  and  — 
"  How  on  earth?  What  on  earth?  "  There  was  a  key 


34  IF   WINTER    COMES 

to  all  these  problems.  There  was  a  definite  way  of  coor 
dinating  the  parts  of  each.  But  what? 

He  began  to  have  the  feeling  that  in  all  the  puzzles, 
not  only,  though  particularly,  of  his  own  life  as  he  had 
come  to  live  it,  but  of  life  in  general  as  it  is  lived,  some 
mysterious  part  was  missing. 

That  was  as  far  as  he  could  get.  He  was  like  a  man 
groping  with  his  hand  through  a  hole  in  a  great  door  for 
a  key  lying  on  the  other  side.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen 
through  the  hole,  and  only  the  arm  to  the  elbow  could 
get  through  it.  Not  the  shape  of  the  key  nor  its  posi 
tion  was  known. 

But  he  was  absolutely  certain  it  was  there. 

One  day  he  might  put  his  hand  on  it. 


CHAPTER    IV 

I 

MABEL  was  two  years  younger  than  Sabre,  twenty- 
five  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  and  just  past  her  thirtieth 
birthday  when  the  separate  rooms  were  first  occupied. 
Her  habit  of  sudden  laughter,  rather  loud,  which  Sabre 
first  noticed  in  connection  with  their  differing  views  on 
the  mean  streets  visit,  was  rather  characteristic  of  her. 
Her  laugh  came  suddenly,  and  very  heartily,  at  anything 
that  amused  her  and  without  her  first  smiling  or  suggest 
ing  by  any  other  sign  that  she  was  amused.  And  it  came 
thus  abruptly  out  of  a  face  whose  expression  was  nor 
mally  rather  severe.  Probably  of  the  same  mentality 
was  her  habit  of  what  Sabre  called  "  flying  up."  She 
"  flew  up  "  without  her  speech  first  warming  up ;  but  of 
her  flying  up,  unlike  her  sudden  burst  of  laughter,  Sabre 
came  to  know  certain  premonitory  symptoms  in  her  face. 
Her  face  what  he  called  "  tightened."  In  particular  he 
used  to  notice  a  curious  little  constriction  of  the  sides  of 
her  nose,  rather  as  though  invisible  tweezers  were  press 
ing  it. 

She  had  rather  a  long  nose  and  this  pleased  her,  for 
she  once  read  somewhere  that  long  noses  were  aristo 
cratic.  She  stroked  her  nose  as  she  read. 

Her  complexion  was  pale,  though  this  was  perhaps 
exaggerated  by  her  colouring,  which  was  dark.  Her 
features  were  noticeably  regular  and  noticeably  refined, 
though  her  eyes  were  the  least  little  bit  inclined  to  be 
prominent :  when  Sabre  married  the  Dean  of  Tid- 


36  IF  WINTER   COMES 

borough's  daughter,  it  was  said  that  he  had  married 
"a  good-looking  girl";  also  that  he  had  married  "a 
very  nice  girl";  those  were  the  expressions  used.  She 
liked  the  company  of  men  and  she  was  much  liked  by 
men  (the  opinion  of  the  garrulous  Hapgood  may  be  re 
called  in  this  connection).  She  very  much  liked  the 
society  of  women  of  her  own  age  or  older  than  herself, 
and  she  was  very  popular  with  such.  She  did  not  like 
girls,  married  or  unmarried. 

II 

Mabel  belonged  to  that  considerable  class  of  persons 
who,  in  conversation,  begin  half  their  sentences  with 
"  And  just  imagine  —  "  ;  or  "  And  only  fancy  —  "  ;  or 
"And  do  you  know — ."  These  exclamations,  delivered 
with  much  excitement,  are  introductory  to  matters  con 
sidered  extraordinary.  Their  users  might  therefore  be 
imagined  somewhat  easily  astonished.  But  they  have  a 
compensatory  steadiness  of  mind  in  regard  to  much  that 
mystifies  other  people.  To  Mabel  there  was  nothing  mys 
terious  in  birth,  or  in  living,  or  in  death.  She  simply 
would  not  have  understood  had  she  been  told  there  was 
any  mystery  in  these  things.  One  was  born,  one  lived, 
one  died.  What  was  there  odd  about  it?  Nor  did  she 
see  anything  mysterious  in  the  intense  preoccupation  of 
an  insect,  or  the  astounding  placidity  of  a  primrose  grow 
ing  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  An  insect  —  you  killed  it.  A 
flower  —  you  plucked  it.  What 's  the  mystery  ? 

Her  life  was  living  among  people  of  her  own  class. 
Her  measure  of  a  man  or  of  a  woman  was,  Were  they  of 
her  class?  If  they  were,  she  gladly  accepted  them  and 
appeared  to  find  considerable  pleasure  in  their  society. 
Whether  they  had  attractive  qualities  or  unattractive 
qualities  or  no  qualities  at  all  did  not  affect  her.  The 


IF   WINTER    COMES  37 

only  quality  that  mattered  was  the  quality  of  being  well- 
bred.  She  called  the  classes  beneath  her  own  standard 
of  breeding  "  the  lower  classes  ",  and  so  long  as  they 
left  her  alone  she  was  perfectly  content  to  leave  them 
alone.  In  certain  aspects  she  liked  them.  She  liked  "  a 
civil  tradesman"  immensely;  she  liked  a  civil  char 
woman  immensely;  and  she  liked  a  civil  workman  im 
mensely.  It  gave  her  as  much  pleasure,  real  pleasure 
that  she  felt  in  all  her  emotions,  to  receive  civility  from 
the  classes  that  ministered  to  her  class  —  servants,  trades 
people,  gardeners,  carpenters,  plumbers,  postmen,  police 
men  —  as  to  meet  any  one  in  her  own  class.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  to  reckon  up  how  enormously  varied  was 
the  class  whose  happy  fortune  it  was  to  minister  to  her 
class  and  she  would  not  have  been  in  the  remotest  degree 
interested  if  any  one  had  told  her  how  numerous  the 
class  was.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  any  of  these 
people  had  homes  and  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  the 
whole  of  the  lower  classes  lived  without  any  margin  at  all 
beyond  keeping  their  homes  together,  or  that  if  they 
stopped  working  they  lost  their  homes,  or  that  they  looked 
forward  to  nothing  beyond  their  working  years  because 
there  was  nothing  beyond  their  working  years  for  them 
to  look  forward  to.  Nor  would  it  have  interested  her  in 
the  remotest  degree  to  hear  this.  The  only  fact  she 
knew  about  the  lower  classes  was  that  they  were  dis 
gustingly  extravagant  and  spent  every  penny  they  earned. 
The  woman  across  the  Green  who  did  her  washing  had 
six  children  and  a  husband  who  was  an  agricultural  la 
bourer  and  earned  eighteen  and  sixpence  a  week.  These 
eight  lived  in  three  rooms  and  "  if  you  please  "  they  ac 
tually  bought  a  gramophone !  Mabel  instanced  it  for  years 
after  she  first  heard  it.  The  idea  of  that  class  of  person 
spending  money  on  anything  to  make  their  three  rooms 
lively  of  an  evening  was  scandalous  to  Mabel.  She 


38  IF    WINTER    COMES 

heard  of  the  gramophone  outrage  in  1908  and  she  was 
still  instancing  it  in  1912.  "  And  those  are  the  people, 
mind  you,"  she  said  in  1912,  "  that  we  have  to  buy  these 
National  Insurance  stamps  for !  " 


III 

Mabel  was  not  demonstrative.  She  had  no  enthusi 
asms  and  no  sympathies.  Enthusiasms  and  sympathies 
in  other  people  made  her  laugh  with  her  characteristic 
burst  of  sudden  laughter.  It  was  not,  as  with  some 
persons,  that  matters  calling  for  sympathy  made  her 
impatient,  —  as  very  robust  people  are  often  intensely 
impatient  with  sickness  and  infirmity.  She  never  would 
say,  "  I  have  no  patience  with  such  and  such  or  so  and 
so."  She  had  plenty  of  patience.  It  was  simply  that  she 
had  no  imagination  whatsoever.  Whatever  she  saw  or 
heard  or  read,  she  saw  or  heard  or  read  exactly  as  the  thing 
presented  itself.  If  she  saw  a  door  she  saw  merely  a  piece 
of  wood  with  a  handle  and  a  keyhole.  It  may  be  argued 
that  a  door  is  merely  a  piece  of  wood  with  a  handle  and 
a  keyhole,  and  that  is  what  Mabel  would  have  argued. 
But  a  door  is  in  fact  the  most  intriguing  mystery  in  the 
world  because  of  what  may  be  the  other  side  of  it  and  of 
what  goes  on  behind  it.  To  Mabel  nothing  was  on  the 
other  side  of  anything  she  saw  and  nothing  went  on 
behind  it. 

A  person  or  a  creature  in  pain  was  to  Mabel  a  person 
or  a  creature  "  laid  up."  Laid  up  —  out  of  action  — 
not  working  properly :  like  a  pencil  without  a  point.  A 
picture  was  a  decoration  in  paint  and  was  either  a  pretty 
decoration  in  paint  or  a  not  pretty  decoration  in  paint. 
Music  was  a  tune,  and  was  either  a  tune  or  merely  music. 
A  book  was  a  story,  and  if  it  was  not  a  story  it  was  sim- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  39 

ply  a  book.     A  flower  was  a  decoration.     Poetry,  such  as 
"  While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  grey," 

was  simply  writing  which,  obviously,  had  no  real  mean 
ing  whatsoever,  and  obviously  —  well,  read  the  thing  — 
was  not  intended  to  have  any  meaning.  A  fine  deed 
was  fine  precisely  in  proportion  to  the  social  position  o'f 
the  person  who  performed  it.  Scott's  death  at  the  South 
Pole,  when  that  was  announced  in  1913,  was  fine  be 
cause  he  was  a  gentleman.  The  disaster  of  the  colliers 
entombed  in  the  Welsh  Senghenydd  mine  which  hap 
pened  in  the  same  year  was  sad.  "How  sad !  "  She 
read  the  account,  on  the  first  day,  with  the  paper  held  up 
wide  open  and  said  "  How  sad !  "  and  turned  on  to 
something  for  which  the  paper  might  be  folded  back  at 
the  place  and  read  comfortably.  Scott's  death  she  read 
with  the  paper  folded  back  at  the  account.  She  liked 
seeing  the  pictures  of  Lady  Scott  and  of  Scott's  little 
boy.  She  read  the  caption  under  one  of  the  pictures  of 
the  wives  and  families  of  the  four  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine  colliers  killed  in  the  Senghenydd  mine,  but  not  un 
der  any  of  the  others.  The  point  she  noted  was  that  all 
the  women  "  of  that  class  "  wore  "  those  awful  cloth 
caps  ",  —  the  colliers'  women  just  the  same  as  the  women 
in  the  mean  streets  of  Tidborough  Old  Town. 

She  was  never  particularly  grateful  for  anything  given 
to  her  or  done  for  her;  not  because  she  was  not  pleased 
and  glad  but  because  she  could  invest  a  gift  with  no 
imagination  of  the  feelings  of  the  giver.  The  thing  was 
a  present  just  as  a  pound  of  bacon  was  a  pound  of  bacon. 
You  said  thank  you  for  the  present  just  as  you  ate  the 
bacon.  What  more  was  to  be  said? 

She  revelled  in  gossip,  that  is  to  say  in  discussion  with 
her  own  class  of  the  manners  and  doings  of  other  people. 
She  thought  charity  meant  giving  jelly  and  red  flannel 


40  IF    WINTER   COMES 

to  the  poor;  she  thought  generosity  meant  giving  money 
to  some  one;  she  thought  selfishness  meant  not  giving 
money  to  some  one.  She  had  no  idea  that  the  only  real 
charity  is  charity  of  mind,  and  the  only  real  generosity 
generosity  of  mind,  and  the  only  real  selfishness  selfish 
ness  of  mind.  And  she  simply  would  not  have  under 
stood  it  if  it  had  been  explained  to  her.  As  people  are 
judged,  she  was  entirely  nice,  entirely  worthy,  entirely 
estimable.  And  with  that,  for  it  does  not  enter  into  such 
estimates,  she  had  neither  feelings  of  the  mind  nor  of  the 
heart  but  only  of  the  senses.  All  that  her  senses  set  be 
fore  her  she  either  overvalued  or  undervalued :  she  was 
the  complete  and  perfect  snob  in  the  most  refined  and 
purest  meaning  of  the  word. 

She  was  much  liked,  and  she  liked  many. 


CHAPTER   V 


THE  Penny  Green  Garden  House  Development 
Scheme  was  begun  in  1910.  In  1908,  the  year  of  the 
measles  and  the  separated  bedrooms,  no  shadow  of  it 
had  yet  been  thrown.  It  never  occurred  to  any  one  that 
a  railway  would  one  day  link  Penny  Green  with  Tid- 
borough  and  all  the  rest  of  the  surrounding  world,  or 
that  a  railway  to  Tidborough  was  desirable.  Sabre 
bicycled  in  daily  to  Fortune,  East  and -Sabre's,  and  the 
daily  ride  to  and  fro  had  become  a  curious  pleasure  to 
him. 

There  had  once  occurred  to  him  as  he  rode,  and  there 
after  had  persisted  and  accumulated,  the  feeling  that,  on 
the  daily,  solitary  passage  between  Tidborough  and 
Penny  Green,  he  was  mysteriously  detached  from,  myste 
riously  suspended  between,  the  two  centres  that  were  his 
two  worlds,  —  his  business  world  and  his  home  world. 

With  its  daily  recurrence  the  thought  developed:  it 
enlarged  to  the  whimsical  notion  that  here,  on  his  bicycle 
on  the  road,  he  was  magically  escaped  out  of  his  two 
worlds,  not  belonging  to  or  responsible  to  either  of  his 
two  worlds,  which  amounted  to  delicious  detachment 
from  all  the  universe.  A  mysteriously  aloof,  free,  irre 
sponsible  attitude  of  mind  was  thus  obtained :  it  was  a 
condition  in  which  —  as  one  looking  down  from  a  high 
tower  on  scurrying,  antlike  human  beings  —  their  odd- 
ness,  their  futility,  the  apparent  aimlessness  of  their  ex- 


42  IF   WINTER   COMES 

cited  scurrying  became  apparent ;  hence  frequent  thought, 
on  these  rides,  on  the  rather  odd  thing  that  life  was. 

He  was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  so  simple,  so  prac 
tical  and  so  obviously  essential  a  thing  as  his  daily  ride  — 
as  simple,  practical  and  obviously  essential  as  getting  out 
of  bed  in  the  morning  and  returning  to  bed  at  night  — 
was  moulding  a  mind  always  prone  to  develop  meditative 
grooves.  But  it  did  develop  his  mind  in  the  extraordi 
nary  way  in  which  minds  are  moulded  by  the  most  simple 
habits.  In  this  mere  matter  of  conveyance  a  philosopher 
might  trace  back  a  singularly  brutal  and  callous  murder 
to  the  moulding  into  callous  and  brutal  regard  of  other 
people's  sufferings  rendered  into  a  perfectly  gentle  mind 
by  the  habit  of  daily  travelling  to  business  in  London  on 
the  top  of  a  motor  omnibus.  It  would  only  need  to  be 
shown  that  the  gentle  mind  secured  his  seat  with  dignity 
and  comfort  at  the  bus's  starting  point  and  daily  for 
years  watched  with  amusement,  and  then  with  callous 
ness  and  so  with  brutality  the  struggles  of  the  unhappy 
fellow  creatures  who  fought  to  assail  it  at  its  stopping 
places  on  the  way  to  the  City. 

Mark  Sabre  was  not  in  the  least  aware  of  any  steadily 
permeating  influence  from  his  sense  of  detachment  on 
this  daily  habit  of  years.  But  he  was  influenced.  On 
entering  his  Penny  Green  world  on  the  return  home,  or 
on  entering  his  Tidborough  office  world,  on  the  way  out, 
he  had  sometimes  a  curious  feeling  of  descending  into  this 
odd  affair  of  life  to  which  he  did  not  really  belong.  And 
for  the  few  moments  while  the  feeling  persisted  he  some 
times,  more  or  less  unconsciously,  took  towards  affairs  a 
rather  whimsical  attitude,  as  though  they  did  not  really 
matter:  an  irritating  attitude,  unpractical,  it  was  some 
times  hinted  by  his  partners;  an  irritating  attitude  — 
'  You  really  are  very  difficult  to  understand  sometimes  " 
—  it  was  often  told  him  by  Mabel. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  43 

II 

This  very  matter  of  the  bicycle  ride,  indeed,  apart  al 
together  from  its  effect  upon  his  mood,  supplied  an  in 
stance  of  the  kind  of  thing  Mabel  found  it  so  difficult  to 
understand  in  her  husband. 

He  made  what  she  called  a  childish  game  of  it.  Every 
day  on  the  ride  home,  Sabre  ceased  pedalling  at  precisely 
the  same  point  on  the  slope  down  into  Penny  Green  and 
coasted  until  the  machine  came  to  a  standstill  within  a 
few  yards  of  his  own  gate.  This  point  of  cessation  was 
never  twice  in  a  week  at  the  same  spot ;  and  Sabre  found 
great  interest  in  seeing  every  day  exactly  where  it  would 
be,  and  by  intense  wriggling  of  his  front  wheel  and  pro 
digious  feats  of  balancing,  squeezing  out  of  the  machine's 
momentum  the  last  possible  fraction  of  an  inch.  There 
was  a  magnificent  distance  record  when,  on  one  single 
occasion  only,  he  had  been  deposited  plumb  in  line  with 
his  own  gate;  and  there  was  a  divertingly  lamentable 
shortage  record,  touched  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
when  he  had  come  to  ground  plumb  in  line  with  the  gate 
of  Mr.  Fargus,  his  neighbour  on  that  side. 

Each  of  these  records,  though  marked  by  the  gates, 
was  also  and  more  exactly  marked  by  a  peg  hammered 
into  the  edge  of  the  Green. 

This  was  childish ;  and  Mabel  said  it  was  childish  when 
her  attention  was  drawn  to  the  diversion.  On  the  day 
the  great  distance  record  was  created  he  came  rather  an 
imatedly  into  the  kitchen  where  she  happened  to  be. 
"  I  say,  what 's  happened  to  that  small  wood  axe  ?  Is  it 
inhere?" 

Mabel  followed  the  direction  of  the  convulsive  start 
made  by  Low  Jinks  and  produced  the  small  wood  axe 
from  under  the  dresser,  also  directing  at  Low  Jinks  a 
glance  which  told  Low  Jinks  what  she  perfectly  well 


44  IF    WINTER   COMES 

knew:  namely  that  under  the  dresser  was  not  the  place 
for  the  small  wood  axe.  "  Whatever  do  you  want  it 
for  all  of  a  sudden?  "  Mabel  asked. 

He  felt  the  edge  with  his  thumb.  "  Low  " —  Mabel's 
face  twitched.  He  had  persisted  in  the  idiotic  and  inde 
corous  names,  and  her  face  always  twitched  when  he  used 
them  —  "  Low,  do  you  keep  my  axe  for  chopping  coal 
or  what  ?  "  And  he  addressed  Mabel.  "  I  'm  getting 
fat,  I  think.  I  don't  want  the  axe  to  cut  lumps  off  my 
self,  though.  I  'm  going  to  chop  a  marking  peg.  I  've 
done  a  heavyweight  world's  record  on  that  run  in  on 
my  bike  —  " 

"Oh,  that!"  said  Mabel. 

And  when  he  had  gone  out  into  the  wood  yard,  Low 
Jinks  staring  after  him  with  the  uplifted  eyebrows  with 
which  both  sisters,  the  glum  and  the  grim,  commonly  re 
ceived  the  master's  "  ways  ",  Mabel  said  in  the  gently 
pained  way  which  was  her  admirable  method  of  admin 
istering  rebukes  in  the  kitchen :  "  The  woodshed  is  the 
place  for  the  small  wood  axe,  Rebecca." 

Rebecca  promptly  unsmirked  her  smirk.  "  Yes, 
m'm." 

A  little  later  the  sound  of  loud  hammering  took  Mabel 
to  the  gate.  Across  the  road,  at  the  edge  of  the  Green, 
Sabre  was  energetically  driving  in  the  peg  with  the  back 
of  the  axe.  He  was  squatting  and  he  looked  up  highly 
pleased  with  himself  and,  his  words  implied,  with  her. 
"  Come  to  see  it?  Good !  How  's  that  for  an  effort,  eh? 
Look  here  now.  Yesterday  I  only  got  as  far  as  here," 
and  he  walked  some  paces  towards  Mr.  Fargus's  gate 
and  struck  his  heel  in  the  ground  and  looked  at  her,  smil 
ing.  "  Absolutely  the  same  conditions,  mind  you.  No 
wind.  And  I  always  start  from  the  top  practically  at 
rest;  and  yet  always  finish  up  different.  Jolly  funny, 
eh?" 


IF    WINTER    COMES  45 

She  opened  the  gate  for  him.     "  What  you  can  see  in 
it !  "  she  murmured. 
He  said,  "Oh,  well!" 

Ill 

But  on  the  following  day  he  was  surprised  and  in 
tensely  pleased  to  see  his  champion  peg  gleaming  white 
in  the  sunshine.  Mabel  was  in  the  morning  room,  sew 
ing. 

"  Hullo,  sewing  ?  I  say,  did  you  paint  my  peg  ?  How 
jolly  nice  of  you !  " 

She  looked  up.  "Your  peg?  Whatever  do  you 
mean?" 

"  That  record  distance  peg  of  mine.  Painted  it  white, 
have  n't  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  didn't  paint  it!" 

"  Who  the  dickens  —  ?  Well,  I  '11  just  wash  my 
hands.  Not  had  tea,  have  you?  Good." 

When  Low  Jinks  came  to  his  room  with  hot  water  — 
a  detail  of  the  perfect  appointment  of  the  house  under 
Mabel's  management  was  her  rule  that  Rebecca  always 
came  to  the  door  for  the  master's  bicycle,  handed  him 
the  brush  for  his  shoes  and  trousers,  and  then  took  hot 
water  to  his  room  —  he  asked  her,  "  I  say,  Low  Jinks, 
did  you  paint  that  peg  of  mine?  " 

Low  Jinks  coloured  and  spoke  apologetically :  "  Well, 
I  thought  it  would  show  up  better,  sir.  There  was  a 
drop  of  whitewash  in  —  " 

"  By  Jove,  it  does.  It  looks  like  a  regular  winning- 
post.  Jolly  nice  of  you,  Low." 

Two  months  afterwards  the  bicycle  did  the  worst  on 
record.  This  was  a  surprising  affair;  the  runs  had  re 
cently  been  excitingly  good;  and  when  Low  Jinks  came 
out  to  take  the  bicycle  he  greeted  her :  "  I  say,  Low  Jinks, 


46  IF    WINTER    COMES 

I  only  got  just  up  to  Mr.  Fargus's  gate  just  now.  Worst 
I  've  ever  done." 

Low  Jinks  was  enormously  concerned.  "  Well !  I 
never  did!  "  exclaimed  Low  Jinks.  "  If  those  bicycles 
are  n't  just  things !  You  '11  want  a  peg  for  that,  sir. 
Like  you  had  one  for  the  best." 

"  That 's  an  idea,  Low.     What  about  painting  it?  " 

"Oh,  I  will,  sir  I" 

But  he  did  not  mention  the  new  record  to  Mabel. 


CHAPTER    VI 
I 

THE  other  end  of  the  daily  bicycle  ride,  the  Tidborough 
end,  provided  no  feats  of  cycling  interest.  The  ex 
tremely  narrow,  cobbled  thoroughfare  in  which  the  offices 
of  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  were  situated  usually  caused 
Sabre's  approach  to  them  to  be  made  on  foot,  wheeling 
his  machine. 

Fortune,  East  and  Sabre,  Ecclesiastical  and  Scholastic 
Furnishers  and  Designers,  had  in  Tidborough  what  is 
called,  in  business  and  professional  circles,  a  good  address. 
A  good  address  for  a  metropolitan  money  lender  is  the 
West  End  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bond  Street;  a  good 
address  for  a  solicitor  is  Bloomsbury  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  Bedford  Square :  for  an  architect  Westminster 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Victoria  Street,  for  commerce 
the  City  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Bank.  The  idea  is 
that,  though  clothes  do  not  make  the  man,  a  good  address 
makes,  or  rather  bestows  the  reputation,  and  conveys  the 
impression  that  the  owner  of  the  good  address,  being  in 
that  neighbourhood,  is  not  within  many  thousands  of 
miles  (or  pounds)  of  the  neighbourhood  of  Bankruptcy. 

The  address  of  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  was  emphati 
cally  a  good  address  because  its  business  was  with  the 
Church  and  for  the  Church;  with  colleges,  universities 
and  schools  and  for  colleges,  universities  and  schools; 
with  bishops,  priests  and  clergy,  churchwardens,  head 
masters,  headmistresses,  governors  and  bursars,  and  for 


48  IF    WINTER   COMES 

bishops,  priests  and  clergy,  churchwardens,  headmasters, 
headmistresses,  governors  and  bursars. 

Its  address  was  The  Precincts,  —  Fortune,  East  and 
Sabre,  The  Precincts,  Tidborough. 

The  Precincts  has  a  discreet  and  beautiful  sound,  a 
discreet  and  beautiful  suggestiveness.  High  Street,  Tid 
borough,  or  Cheapside,  Tidborough,  or  Commercial 
Street,  Tidborough,  have  only  to  be  compared  with  The 
Precincts,  Tidborough,  to  establish  the  discretion  and 
beauty  of  the  situation  of  the  firm.  And  the  names  of 
the  firm  were  equally  euphonious  and  equally  suggestive 
of  high  decorum  and  cultured  efficiency.  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre  had  a  discreet  and  beautiful  sound.  Finally 
Tidborough,  the  last  line  of  the  poem,  though  not  in  it 
self  either  discreet  or  beautiful,  being  intensely  busy, 
suggested  to  all  the  cultured  persons  from  bishops  to 
bursars,  with  whom  business  was  done,  the  discreet  and 
beautiful  lines  of  Tidborough  Cathedral  and  of  Tid 
borough  School,  together  with  all  that  these  venerable 
and  famous  institutions  connoted.  Not  Winchester  it 
self  conveys  to  the  cultured  mind  thoughts  more  discreet 
and  beautiful  than  are  conveyed  by  Tidborough.  The 
care  of  the  cathedral,  for  many  years  in  a  highly  delicate 
state  of  health,  and  the  care  of  the  school,  yearly  rav 
aged  by  successive  generations  of  the  sons  of  those  who 
could  afford  to  educate  their  sons  there  were,  it  may 
be  mentioned,  established  sources  of  income  to  the 
firm. 

Thus  the  whole  style  and  title  of  the  firm  had  a  discreet 
and  beautiful  sound,  in  admirable  keeping  with  its  busi 
ness.  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre,  The  Precincts,  Tidbor 
ough.  Was  any  one  so  utterly  removed  from  affairs  as 
not  to  know  them  as  ecclesiastical  furnishers  ?  "  They  're 
at  Tidborough.  They  do  Tidborough"  (meaning  the 
world-famous  cathedral).  Or  as  scholastic  providers? 


IF   WINTER    COMES  49 

"They're  at  Tidborough.  They  do  Tidborough " 
(meaning  the  empire-famous  school). 

The  frontage  of  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  on  The 
Precincts  consisted  of  a  range  of  three  double-fronted 
shops.  The  central  shop  gave  one  window  to  a  superb 
lectern  in  the  style  of  a  brass  eagle  whose  outstretched 
wings  supported  a  magnificent  Bible;  to  a  richly  em 
broidered  altar  cloth  on  which  stood  a  strikingly  hand 
some  set  of  communion  plate;  to  a  font  chastely  carried 
out  in  marble;  to  an  altar  chair  in  oak  and  velvet  that 
few  less  than  a  suffragan  bishop  would  have  dared  take 
seat  in;  and  to  an  example  or  two  of  highest  art  in  needle 
work  and  embroidery  in  the  form  of  offertory  bags  and 
testament  markers.  The  other  window  of  the  central 
shop  was  a  lesson  to  the  profane  in  the  beauty,  the  dig 
nity  and  the  variety  of  vestments.  It  also  informed  rural 
choirboys,  haply  in  Tidborough  on  a  treat,  what  sur 
plices  can  be  like  if  the  funds  and  the  faith  are  sufficiently 
high  to  support  them. 

The  windows  of  the  shop  to  the  left  (as  you  faced  the 
lectern  and  the  vestments)  displayed  school  furniture 
and  school  fittings  bearing  the  characteristic  "  F.  E.  &  S." 
stamp.  Here  were  adjustable  desks  for  boys  at  which 
no  boy  could  possibly  sit  round-shouldered,  which  could 
be  adjusted  upwards  for  tall  boys  and  downwards  for 
short  boys,  and  the  seats  of  which  could  be  advanced 
for  boys  afflicted  with  short  legs  and  retired  for  boys  in 
the  possession  of  long  legs.  It  was  believed  by  those 
who  had  seen  the  full  range  of  "  F.  E.  &  S."  desk  models 
that,  if  a  headmaster  or  bursar  had  telegraphed  to  For 
tune,  East  and  Sabre  the  arrival  of  a  Siamese  twin  boy 
at  his  school,  a  desk  specially  contrived  for  the  nice 
accommodation  of  a  Siamese  twin  boy  would  have  been 
put  on  the  railway  before  the  telegraph  messenger  had 
loitered  his  way  out  of  the  shadow  of  The  Precincts. 


50  IF    WINTER    COMES 

By  an  ingenious  contrivance  ink  could  not  be  spilt  from 
the  inkwells  of  the  "  F.  E.  &  S."  models;  rubber  beading 
most  properly  nullified  the  boyish  idea  that  desk  lids  were 
made  for  the  purpose  of  slamming  to  blazes  the  nerves 
of  masters  and  the  calm  in  which  alone  high  education 
can  be  served. 

Equal  skill,  science,  art,  and  the  experience  of  genera 
tions  had  produced  the  model  of  a  master's  desk  which 
partnered  the  desks  of  the  pupil.  Maps  of  as  many  coun 
tries  as  might  be  desired  showed  in  frames  up  and  down 
which  they  followed  one  another  by  the  silent  turning  of 
a  handle.  A  blackboard  on  an  easel  looked  across  the 
desks  at  a  wall  into  which  was  let  a  solid  slab  of  black 
board.  The  window  adjoining  this  display  exhibited  a 
miniature  classroom  in  which  the  "  F.  E.  &  S."  system  of 
classroom  ventilation  maintained  air  so  pure  and  fresh 
that  the  most  comatose  pupil  could  not  but  keep  alert  and 
receptive  in  it. 

The  shop  front  to  the  right  paid  testimony  to  the  stand 
ing  of  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  in  their  capacity  as  edu 
cational  and  ecclesiastical  book  publishers  and  binders. 
One  window  gave  chastely,  on  purple  velvet,  not  more 
than  two  or  at  most  three  exquisitely  wrought  Bibles  and 
prayer  books  for  lectern  and  altar;  the  other  showed 
severely,  on  green  baize,  school  textbooks  of  every  sub 
ject  and  degree  grouped  about  superbly  handsome  prize 
volumes  in  blue  calf  displaying  the  classic  arms  of  Tid- 
borough  School. 

Public  entrance  to  these  premises  was  gained  by  doors 
of  the  central  shop  only.  It  was  considered  proper  and 
in  keeping  with  the  times  to  have  window  displays,  but 
it  was  considered  improper  and  out  of  keeping  with  the 
traditions  of  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  to  present  more 
than  the  extreme  minimum  of  shoppish  appearance. 
You  entered  therefore  by  but  one  door,  which  was,  more- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  51 

over,  not  a  shop  door  but  a  church  door  and  one  of  the 
several  models  which  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre  had  de 
signed  and  executed ;  you  entered,  between  the  vestments 
and  the  lecterns,  not  a  shop  but  a  vestry ;  and  you  passed, 
on  the  left,  not  into  a  shop  but  into  a  classroom,  and  on 
the  right  not  into  a  shop  but  into  a  book-lined  study. 

It  is  said  that  if  you  loitered  long  enough  in  Fortune, 
East  and  Sabre's  you  would  meet  every  dignitary  of  the 
Church  and  of  education  in  the  United  Kingdom ;  and  it 
was  added  that  you  would  not  have  to  wait  long. 

Fortune,  East  and  Sabre,  The  Precincts,  Tidborough. 

II 

Maintaining  the  unshoplike  character  of  the  ground- 
floor  rooms  upon  which  the  plate-glass  windows  looked, 
virtually  no  business,  in  the  vulgar  form  of  buying  and 
selling,  was  carried  on  in  the  vestry,  in  the  classroom  or 
in  the  book-lined  study.  Many  modern  and  entirely 
worthy  businesses  are  conducted  under  the  strident  ban 
ner  of  "  Cash  Only."  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre's  did  not 
know  the  word  cash.  One  would  as  soon  look  for  or 
expect  a  till,  to  say  nothing  of  one  of  those  terrific  ma 
chines  known  as  cash  registers,  in  the  vestry,  the  class 
room  or  the  study  as  one  would  look  for  a  lectern  or  an 
adjustable  school  desk  in  a  beer-house.  "  Credit  only  " 
was  here  the  principle,  and  accounts  were  rendered,  never 
on  delivery,  but  quarterly.  One  does  not,  after  all,  pay 
for  a  font  out  of  one's  trouser  pocket  and  carry  it  off  un 
der  one's  arm;  nor  for  a  school  desk  out  of  a  purse  and 
bear  it  away  on  one's  head.  Only  in  the  book-lined 
study  were  trifling  transactions  occasionally  carried  out 
and  these  very  rarely,  constituting  something  of  an 
event  (and  an  event  greatly  deprecated  by  the  Reverend 
Sebastian  Fortune),  the  tactless  misadventure  of  some 


52  IF   WINTER    COMES 

pedagogue  or  student  on  excursion  to  the  sights  of  Tid- 
borough. 

No  one,  in  any  case,  committed  twice  the  indiscretion 
of  purchasing  a  single  volume  for  cash.  The  book-lined 
study  was  in  the  care  of  a  Mr.  Tombs,  a  gentleman  who 
combined  the  appearance  of  a  mute  at  a  funeral  with  the 
aloof  and  mysterious  manner  of  a  man  waiting  for  his 
wife  in  a  ladies'  underwear  department,  and  the  peculiar 
faculty  of  making  the  haphazard  visitor  feel  that  he  had 
strayed  into  a  ladies'  underwear  shop  also.  "  Have  you 
an  account  with  us,  sir?"  Mr.  Tombs  would  inquire; 
and  on  being  told  "  No  "  would  look  guiltily  all  around 
(as  it  were  at  partially  undressed  ladies)  and  whisper, 
"  Except  to  the  masters  at  the  School,  sir,  who  all  have 
accounts,  we  are  not  supposed  to  sell  single  volumes.  It  is 
against  our  rule,  sir." 

And  no  one,  once  escaped,  made  Mr.  Tombs  break 
the  rule  on  a  second  occasion. 

Ill 

Business  —  on  credit  only  —  was  conducted  on  the  first 
floor  whereon  were  apartmented  the  three  principals  — 
the  Reverend  Sebastian  Fortune,  Mr.  Twyning  and 
Sabre.  There  was  no  longer  an  East  in  the  firm. 
From  the  central,  vestry-like  showroom  a  broad  and 
shallow  stairway  led  to  a  half -landing,  containing  the 
clerks'  office,  and  thence  to  the  spacious  apartment  of  Mr. 
Fortune  with  which,  by  doors  at  either  end,  communi 
cated  the  offices  of  Sabre  and  of  Mr.  Twyning.  Many 
stately  and  eminent  persons  —  and  no  ill-to-do  or  doubt 
ful  persons  —  passed  up  and  down  this  stairway  on  visits 
to  the  principals.  It  was  not  used  by  the  clerks,  the 
half -landing  communicating  with  the  outer  world  by  the 
clerks'  stairs  leading  to  the  clerks'  entrance  at  the  back 


IF   WINTER   COMES  53 

of  the  building,  and  with  the  showrooms  by  the  clerks' 
stairs  leading  at  one  end  to  the  book-lined  study  and  at 
the  other  to  the  model  classroom.  The  clerks'  office,  by 
the  taking  down  of  original  walls,  ran  the  whole  length 
of  the  building,  and  accommodated  not  only  the  clerks,  but 
the  designing  room,  the  checking  room  and  the  dispatch 
room.  This  arrangement  was  highly  inconvenient  to 
the  performers  of  the  various  duties  thus  carried  on,  but 
was  essential  to  the  more  rapid  execution  of  Mr.  For 
tune's  habit  of  "  keeping  an  eye  "  on  everything.  This 
habit  of  the  Reverend  Sebastian  Fortune  was  roundly  de 
tested  by  all  on  whom  his  eye  fell.  He  was  called  Jonah 
by  his  employees ;  and  he  was  called  Jonah  partly  because 
his  visits  to  the  places  of  their  industry  invariably  pre 
saged  disaster,  but  principally  for  the  gross-minded  and 
wrongly-adduced  reason  that  he  had  (in  their  opinion) 
a  whale's  belly. 

IV 

He  bore  a  certain  resemblance  to  a  stunted  whale.  He 
was  chiefly  abdominal.  His  legs  appeared  to  begin,  with 
out  thighs,  at  his  knees,  and  his  face,  without  neck,  at 
his  chest.  His  face  was  large,  both  wide  and  long,  and 
covered  as  to  its  lower  part  with  a  tough  scrub  of  grey 
beard.  The  line  of  his  mouth  showed  through  the  scrub 
and  turned  extravagantly  downwards  at  the  corners. 
He  had  a  commanding,  heavily  knobbed  brow,  and  small 
grey  eyes  of  intense  severity.  His  voice  was  cold,  and 
his  manner,  though  intensely  polished  and  suave,  singu 
larly  stern  and  decisive.  He  had  an  expression  of  "  I 
have  decided  "  and  Sabre  said  that  he  kept  this  expres 
sion  on  ice.  It  had  an  icy  sound  and  it  certainly  had  the 
rigidity  and  imperviousness  of  an  iceberg.  Hearing  it, 
one  might  believe  that  it  could  have  a  cruel  sound. 


54  IF    WINTER    COMES 

The  Reverend  Sebastian  Fortune  had  come  into  the 
business  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight.  He  was  now  sixty- 
two.  He  had  come  in  to  find  the  controlling  interest  al 
most  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  Fortune  branch  of  the 
firm,  and  in  his  thirty-four  years  of  association,  indeed  in 
the  first  twenty,  he  had,  by  fortuitous  circumstances,  and 
by  force  of  his  decisive  personality,  achieved  what 
amounted  to  sole  and  single  control.  Coming  in  as  a 
young  man  of  force  and  character,  he  had  added  to  these 
qualities,  by  marriage,  a  useful  sum  of  money  (to  which 
was  attached  a  widow)  and  proceeded  to  deal  decisively 
with  the  East  and  the  Sabre  (Mark  Sabre's  grandfather) 
of  that  day.  Both  were  old  men.  The  East,  young  Mr. 
Fortune  bought  out  neck  and  crop.  The  Sabre,  who 
owned  then  a  fifth  instead  of  a  third  interest  in  the 
business,  and  had  developed,  as  an  obsession,  an  un 
reasonable  fear  of  bankruptcy,  he  relieved  of  all  liability 
for  the  firm  at  the  negligible  cost  of  giving  himself  a 
free  hand  in  the  conduct  of  the  business.  The  deed  of 
partnership  was  altered  accordingly.  It  was  to  this  fifth 
share,  without  control,  that  Sabre's  father  and,  in  his 
turn,  Sabre  succeeded. 

V 

Sabre  had  been  promised  full  partnership  by  Mr.  For 
tune.  He  desired  it  very  greatly.  The  apportionment  of 
duties  in  the  establishment  was  that  Sabre  managed  the 
publishing  department.  Twyning  supervised  the  factory 
and  workshops  wherein  the  ecclesiastical  and  scholastic 
furniture  was  produced,  and  Fortune  supervised  his  two 
principals  and  every  least  employee  and  smallest  detail  of 
all  the  business.  Particularly  orders.  He  very  strongly 
objected  to  clients  dealing  directly  with  either  Sabre  or 
Twyning.  His  view  was  that  it  was  the  business  of 


IF   WINTER    COMES  55 

Sabre  and  of  Twyning  to  produce  the  firm's  commodi 
ties.  It  was  his  place  to  sell  them.  It  was  his  place  to 
deal  with  clients  who  came  to  buy  them,  and  it  was  his 
place  to  sign  all  letters  that  went  out  concerning  them. 

Sabre,  in  so  far  as  his  publications  were  concerned, 
resented  this. 

"  If  I  bring  out  a  new  textbook,"  he  had  said  on  the  oc 
casion  of  a  formal  protest,  "  it  stands  to  reason  that  I  am 
the  person  to  interest  clients  in  it ;  to  discuss  it  with  them 
if  they  call  and  to  correspond  with  those  who  take  up 
our  notices  of  it." 

Mr.  Fortune  wheeled  about  his  revolving  chair  by  a 
familiar  trick  of  his  right  leg  against  his  desk.     It  pre 
sented   his   whale-like   front  to'   impressive  advantage. 
"You  do  correspond  with  them." 

"  But  you  sign  the  letters.  You  frequently  make  alter 
ations." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  here  for.  They  are  my  letters. 
It  will  be  time  to  bring  up  this  matter  again  when  you 
are  admitted  to  partnership." 

Sabre  gave  the  short  laugh  of  one  who  has  heard  a 
good  thing  before.  "  When  will  that  be?" 

"  Not  to-day." 

"  Well  all  I  can  say  is  —  " 

Mr.  Fortune  raised  a  whale-like  but  elegantly  white 
fin.  "  Enough,  I  have  decided." 

With  the  same  clever  motion  of  his  feet  he  spun  his 
chair  and  his  whale-like  front  to  the  table.  A  worn 
patch  on  the  carpet  and  an  ab raised  patch  on  the  side  of 
the  desk  marked  the  frequent  daily  use  of  these  thrusting 
points. 

Sabre  kicked  out  of  the  room,  using  a  foot  to  open  the 
door,  which  stood  ajar,  and  hooking  back  a  foot  to  shut 
it,  because  he  knew  that  this  slovenly  method  of  dealing 
with  a  door  much  annoyed  Mr.  Fortune. 


56  IF   WINTER    COMES 

He  was  not  in  the  least  in  awe  of  Mr.  Fortune,  though 
Mr.  Fortune  had  power  to  sever  him  from  the  firm. 
Mr.  Fortune  was  aware  that  he  struck  no  awe  into  Sabre, 
and  this  caused  him  on  the  one  hand  to  dislike  Sabre,  and 
on  the  other  (subconsciously,  for  he  would  emphatically 
have  denied  it)  to  respect  him. 

Twyning,  Sabre's  fellow  sub-principal,  did  stand  in 
awe  of  Mr.  Fortune  and  did  not  resent  having  his  letters 
signed  for  him  and  his  callers  interviewed  for  him.  In 
deed  he  frequently  took  opportunity  to  thank  Mr.  For 
tune  for  alterations  made  in  his  letters  and  for  dealings 
carried  out  with  his  clients,  also  for  direct  interference 
in  his  workshops.  Mr.  Fortune  liked  Twyning,  but  he 
did  not  respect  Twyning,  consciously  or  subconsciously. 

VI 

Sabre  greatly  desired  the  promised  admission  to  part 
nership.  He  desired  it  largely  for  what  he  knew  he 
would  make  it  bring  in  the  form  of  greater  freedom  from 
Mr.  Fortune's  surveillance,  but  much  more  for  the  solid 
personal  satisfaction  its  winning  would  give  him.  It 
would  be  a  tribute  to  his  work,  of  all  the  greater  value 
because  he  knew  it  would  be  bestowed  grudgingly  and 
unwillingly,  and  he  was  keenly  interested  in  and  proud  of 
his  work.  The  publishing  of  educational  textbooks  "  for 
the  use  of  schools  "  had  been  no  part  of  the  firm's  busi 
ness  until  he  came  into  it.  The  idea  had  been  his  own, 
and  Mr.  Fortune,  because  the  idea  was  not  his  own, 
had  very  half-heartedly  assented  to  it  and  very  disen- 
couragingly  looked  upon  it  in  the  fiddlingly  small  way 
in  which  he  permitted  it  to  be  begun. 

From  the  outset  it  had  been  a  very  considerable  suc 
cess.  Sabre  was  interested  in  books  and  interested  in 
education.  He  had  many  friends  among  the  large  staff 


IF   WINTER    COMES  57 

of  Tidborough  School  masters  and  had  developed  many 
acquaintances  among  the  large  body  of  members  of  the 
teaching  profession  with  whom  the  firm  was  in  touch. 
He  was  fond  of  discussing  methods  and  difficulties  of 
encouraging  stubborn  youth  in  the  arid  paths  of  assimi 
lating  knowledge,  and  he  had  a  peculiarly  fresh  and 
sympathetic  recollection  of  his  own  boyish  flounderings 
in  those  paths.  To  these  tastes  and  qualities,  and  per 
haps  because  of  them,  he  found  he  was  able  to  bring  what 
was  incontestably  a  flair  for  discovering  the  sort  of  book 
that  needed  to  be  compiled  and,  what  was  equally  im 
portant,  the  sort  of  man  to  compile  it.  Also,  in  his  ca 
pacity  of  general  editor  of  the  volumes,  to  give  much 
stimulating  suggestion  and  advice  to  the  authors. 

He  had  never  been  so  pleased  as  on  the  day  when  the 
Spectator,  in  an  extended  notice  of  four  new  textbooks, 
had  written,  "  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  open  one  of  the 
school  textbooks  bearing  the  imprint  of  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre  and  issued  in  the  pleasing  format  which  this 
firm  have  made  their  own.  Their  publications  give  the 
impression  of  a  directing  mind  inspired  with  the  happy 
thought  of  presenting  textbooks,  not  for  the  master,  but 
for  the  pupil,  and  of  carrying  out  this  design  with  sin 
gular  freshness  and  originality." 

On  the  day  when  that  notice  appeared,  Mr.  Fortune, 
who  considered  that  his  mind  was  —  orwould  be  supposed 
to  be  —  the  directing  mind  referred  to,  had  repeated  his 
promise  of  partnership,  first  made  when  the  enterprise 
began  to  show  unexpected  signs  of  responding  to  Sabre's 
enthusiasm.  "  Very  good,  Sabre,  very  good  indeed.  I 
am  bound  to  say  capital.  I  may  tell  you,  as  your  father 
probably  told  you,  that  it  was  always  understood  be 
tween  him  and  me  that  you  should  be  taken  into  partner 
ship  if  you  showed  signs  of  promise.  Unquestionably 
you  do.  When  you  have  brought  the  publishing  into 


58  IF   WINTER    COMES 

line  with  our  established  departments  we  will  go  into  the 
matter  and  —  "  he  made  one  of  his  nearest  approaches 
to  pleasantry  —  "  take  steps  to  restore  the  house  of 
Sabre  in  some  part  to  its  ancient  glories  in  the  firm  — 
in  some  part." 

And  when  Sabre  expressed  his  gratification,  "  Enough, 
I  have  decided." 

In  1912  Sabre  felt  that  he  had  now  brought  the  pub 
lishing  into  line  with  the  established  departments.  He 
had  emphasized  the  firm's  reputation  in  this  activity  by 
the  considerable  success  that  attended  two  textbooks 
bearing  (one  in  collaboration)  his  own  name.  "  Sabre 
and  Owen's  Elementary  Mathematics  "  had  been  notably 
taken  up  by  the  schools.  "  Sabre's  Modern  History  ", 
shunned  by  the  public  schools  in  accordance  with  their 
principle  of  ignoring  all  history  mellowed  by  fewer  than 
three  thousand  years,  had  been  received  enthusiastically 
by  the  lesser  schools  wherein  was  then  dawning  the  dar 
ing  idea  of  presenting  to  the  rising  generation  some 
glimmering  conception  of  the  constitutional  and  socio 
logical  facts  into  which  it  was  arising. 

The  tributes  with  which  this  slim  primer  of  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  pages  for  eighteen  pence  had  been  greeted 
inspired  Sabre  towards  a  much  bolder  work,  on  which 
the  early  summer  of  1912  saw  him  beginning  and  into 
which  he  found  himself  able  to  pour  in  surprising  vol 
ume  thoughts  and  feelings  which  he  had  scarcely  known 
to  be  his  until  the  pen  and  the  paper  began  to  attract 
them.  The  title  he  had  conceived  alone  stirred  them  in 
his  mind  and  drew  them  from  it  as  a  magnet  stirs  and 
draws  iron  filings.  "  England."  Just  "  England."  He 
could  see  it  printed  and  published  and  renowned  as 
"  Sabre's  England."  Kings  were  to  enter  this  history 
but  incidentally,  as  kings  have  in  fact  ever  been  but  inci 
dental  to  England's  history.  It  was  to  be  just  "  Eng- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  59 

land  ";  the  England  of  the  English  people  and  how  and 
why.     And  the  first  sentence  said  so. 

"This  England"  (it  said)  "  is  yours.  It  belongs  to 
you.  Many  enemies  have  desired  to  take  it  because  it  is 
the  most  glorious  and  splendid  country  in  the  world. 
But  they  have  never  taken  it,  because  it  is  yours  and 
has  been  kept  for  you.  This  book  is  to  tell  you  how  it 
has  come  to  be  yours  and  how  it  has  been  kept 
for  you,  —  not  by  kings  or  by  statesmen,  or  by 
great  men  alone,  but  by  the  English  people.  Down 
the  long  years  they  have  handed  it  on  to  you,  as  a  torch 
is  sent  from  hand  to  hand,  and  you  in  your  turn  will 
hand  it  on  down  the  long  years  before  you.  They  made 
the  flame  of  England  bright  and  ever  brighter  for  you; 
and  you,  stepping  into  all  that  they  have  made  for  you, 
will  make  it  bright  and  brighter  yet.  They  passed  and 
are  gone;  and  you  will  pass  and  go.  But  England  will 
continue.  Your  England.  Yours." 


CHAPTER    VII 


MABEL  called  Sabre's  school  textbooks  "  those  lesson 
books."  After  she  had  thus  referred  to  them  two  or 
three  times  he  gave  up  trying  to  interest  her  in  them. 
The  expression  hurt  him,  but  when  he  thought  upon  it 
he  reasoned  with  himself  that  he  had  no  cause  to  be  hurt. 
He  thought,  "  Dash  it,  that 's  what  they  are,  lesson  books. 
What  on  earth  have  I  got  to  grouse  about  ?  "  But  they 
meant  to  him  a  good  deal  more  than  what  was  implied  in 
the  tone  and  the  expression  "  those  lesson  books." 

However,  "  England  "  was  going  to  be  something  very 
different.  No  one  would  call  "  England  "  a  lesson  book. 
Even  Mabel  would  see  that;  and  in  his  enthusiasm  he 
spoke  of  it  to  her  a  good  deal,  until  the  day  when  it  came 
up  —  of  all  unlikely  connections  in  the  world  —  in  a 
discussion  with  her  on  the  National  Insurance  Act,  then 
first  outraging  the  country. 

One  day  when  English  society  was  first  shaken  to  its 
depths  by  the  disgusting  indignity  of  what  Mabel,  in 
common  with  all  nice  people,  called  "  licking  stamps  for 
that  Lloyd  George  ",  she  mentioned  to  Sabre  that,  "  Well, 
thank  goodness  some  of  us  know  better  than  to  steal  the 
money  out  of  the  poor  creatures'  wages." 

She  knew  that  this  would  please  her  husband  because 
he  was  always  doing  what  she  called  "  sticking  up  for 
the  servants  and  all  that  class." 

That  it  did  not  please  him  was  precisely  an  example 


IF    WINTER    COMES  61 

of  his  "  absolutely  un-understandable  "  ways  of  looking 
at  things  that  so  desperately  annoyed  her. 

Sabre  asked,  "  How  do  you  mean  —  knowing  better 
than  to  steal  the  money  out  of  their  wages  ?  " 

"  Why,  making  them  pay  their  thruppence  for  those 
wretched  stamps.  I  believe  Mrs.  Castor  does.  How 
she  's  got  the  face  to  I  can't  imagine." 

"  Why,  are  n't  you  going  to  make  them  pay,  Mabel?  " 

Mabel  was  quite  indignant.  "  Is  it  likely?  I  should 
hope  not !  " 

"  Really?  Haven't  you  been  making  High  and  Low 
pay  their  share  of  the  stamps  all  this  time?  " 

"  Of  course  I  've  not." 

"  You  've  been  paying  their  contribution?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have." 

"  Well,  but  Mabel,  that 's  wrong,  awfully  wrong." 

She  simply  stared  at  him.  "  You  really  are  beyond 
me,  Mark.  What  do  you  mean  '  wrong  '  ?  " 

"  Well,  it 's  not  fair  —  not  fair  on  the  girls  —  " 

"  Not  fair  to  pay  them  more  than  their  wages !  " 

"  No,  of  course  it 's  not.  Don't  you  see  half  the  idea 
of  the  Act  is  to  help  these  people  to  learn  thrift  and 
forethought  —  to  learn  the  wisdom  of  putting  by  for  a 
rainy  day.  And  to  encourage  their  independence.  When 
you  go  and  pay  what  they  ought  to  pay,  you  're  simply 
taking  away  their  independence." 

She  gave  her  sudden  burst  of  laughter.  "  You  're  the 
first  person  I  've  ever  heard  say  that  the  lower  classes 
want  their  independence  encouraged.  It 's  just  what 's 
wrong  with  them  —  independence." 

He  began  to  talk  with  animation.  This  was  one  of 
the  things  that  much  interested  him.  He  seemed  to  have 
quite  forgotten  the  origin  of  the  conversation.  "  No,  it 
is  n't,  Mabel  —  it  is  n't.  That 's  jolly  interesting,  that 
point.  It 's  their  dependence  that 's  wrong  with  them. 


62  IF    WINTER    COMES 

They  're  nearly  all  of  them  absolutely  dependent  on  an 
employer,  and  that 's  bad,  fatal,  for  anybody.  It 's  the 
root  of  the  whole  trouble  with  the  less-educated  classes, 
if  people  would  only  see  it.  What  they  want  is  pride  in 
themselves.  They  just  slop  along  taking  what  they  can 
get, .  and  getting  so  much  for  nothing  —  votes  and  free 
this,  that  and  the  other  —  that  they  don't  value  it  in  the 
least.  They  're  dependent  all  the  time.  What  you  want 
to  help  them  to  is  independence,  pride  in  themselves  and 
confidence  in  themselves  —  that  sort  of  independence. 
You  know,  all  this  talk  that  they  put  up,  or  that 's  put 
up  for  them,  about  their  right  to  this  and  their  right  to 
that  —  of  course  you  can't  have  a  right  to  anything  with 
out  earning  it.  That 's  what  they  want  to  be  shown, 
see  ?  And  that 's  what  they  want  to  be  given  —  the 
chance  to  earn  the  right  to  things,  see?  Well,  this  In 
surance  Act  business  —  " 

She  laughed  again.  "  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  if 
you  were  ever  coming  back  to  that." 

He  noticed  nothing  deprecatory  in  her  remark.  "  Yes, 
rather.  Well,  this  Insurance  Act  business  —  that 's 
really  a  jolly  good  example  of  the  way  to  do  things. 
You  see,  it 's  not  giving  them'  the  right  to  free  treatment 
when  they  're  ill ;  it 's  giving  them  the  chance  to  earn 
the  right.  That 's  what  you  want  to  explain  to  High 
and  Low.  See  —  you  want  to  say  to  them,  '  This  is 
your  show.  Your  very  own.  Fine.  You  're  building 
this  up,  I  'm  helping.  You  're  helping  all  sorts  of  poor 
devils  and  you  're  helping  yourself  at  the  same  time. 
You  're  stacking  up  a  great  chunk  of  the  State  and  it 
belongs  to  you.  England  's  yours  and  you  want  to  pile 
it  up  all  you  know  '  —  " 

He  was  quite  flushed. 

"  That 's  the  sort  of  thing  I  'm  putting  into  that  book 
of  mine.  '  England  's  yours  ',  you  know.  Precious  be- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  63 

yond  price;  and  therefore  grand  to  be  making  more 
precious  and  more  your  own.  I  wish  you  'd  like  to  see 
how  the  book  's  getting  on;  would  you?  " 

"  What  book?" 

"  Why  '  England.'  I  told  you,  you  know.  That  his 
tory." 

"  Oh,  that  lesson  book !     I  wish  you  'd  write  a  novel." 

He  looked  at  her.     "  Oh,  well !  "  he  said. 


II 


After  that  he  never  mentioned  "  England  "  again  to 
her.  But  he  most  desperately  wanted  to  talk  about  it  to 
some  one.  There  was  no  one  in  Penny  Green  from 
whom  he  could  expect  helpful  suggestions;  but  it  was 
not  helpful  suggestions  he  wanted.  He  wanted  merely 
to  talk  about  it  to  a  sympathetic  listener.  And  not  only 
about  the  book,  —  about  all  sorts  of  things  that  inter 
ested  him.  And  indirectly  they  all  helped  the  book.  To 
talk  with  one  who  responded  sympathetically  was  in 
some  curious  way  a  source  of  enormous  inspiration  to 
him.  Not  always  precisely  inspiration,  —  comfort. 
All  sorts  of  warming  feelings  stirred  pleasurably  within 
him  when  he  could,  in  some  sympathetic  company,  open 
out  his  mind. 

He  was  not  actively  aware  of  it,  but  what,  in  those 
years,  he  came  to  crave  for  as  a  starved  child  craves  for 
food  was  sympathy  of  mind. 

He  found  it,  in  Penny  Green,  with  what  Mabel  called 
"  the  most  extraordinary  people."  "  What  you  can  find 
in  that  Mr.  Fargus  and  that  young  Perch  and  his  ever 
lasting  mother,"  she  used  to  say,  "  I  simply  cannot 
imagine." 

He  found  a  great  deal. 


64  IF    WINTER    COMES 

III 

Mr.  Fargus,  who  lived  next  door  down  the  Green, 
and  outside  whose  gate  the  bicycle  had  made  its  celebrated 
shortage  record,  was  a  grey  little  man  with  grey  whiskers 
and  always  in  a  grey  suit.  He  had  a  large  and  very  red 
wife  and  six  thin  and  rather  yellowish  daughters.  Once 
a  day,  at  four  in  summer  and  at  two  in  winter,  the  com 
plete  regiment  of  Farguses  moved  out  in  an  immense 
mass  and  proceeded  in  a  dense  crowd  for  a  walk.  The 
female  Farguses,  having  very  long  legs,  walked  very  fast, 
and  the  solitary  male  Fargus,  having  very  short  legs, 
walked  very  slowly,  and  was  usually,  therefore,  trotting 
to  keep  up  with  the  pack.  He  had,  moreover,  not  only 
to  keep  pace  but  also  to  keep  place.  He  was  forever  get 
ting  squeezed  out  from  between  two  tall  Farguses  and 
trotting  agitatedly  around  the  heels  of  the  battalion  to 
recover  a  position  in  it.  He  always  reminded  Sabre  of  a 
grey  old  Scotch  terrier  toddling  along  behind  and  around 
the  flanks  of  a  company  of  gaunt,  striding  mastiffs.  He 
returned  from  those  walks  panting  slightly  and  a  little 
perspiring,  and  at  the  door  gave  the  appearance  of  being 
dismissed,  and  trotted  away  rather  like  a  little  grey  old 
Scotch  terrier  toddling  off  to  the  stables.  The  lady 
Farguses  called  this  daily  walk  "  exercise  " ;  and  it  cer 
tainly  was  exercise  for  Mr.  Fargus. 

The  eldest  Miss  Fargus  was  a  grim  thirty-nine  and  the 
youngest  Miss  Fargus  a  determined  twenty-eight.  They 
called  their  father  "  Papa  "  and  used  the  name  a  good 
deal.  When  Sabre  occasionally  had  tea  at  the  Farguses' 
on  a  Sunday  afternoon  Mr.  Fargus  always  appeared  to 
be  sitting  at  the  end  of  an  immense  line  of  female  Far 
guses.  Mrs.  Fargus  would  pour  out  a  cup  and  hand  it 
to  the  Miss  Fargus  at  her  end  of  the  line  with  the  loud 
word  "  Papa !  "  and  it  would  whiz  down  the  chain  from 


IF   WINTER   COMES  65 

daughter  to  daughter  to  the  clamorous  direction,  each  to 
each,  "  Papa !  --  Papa !  —  Papa !  —  Papa !  "  The  cup 
would  reach  Mr.  Fargus  at  the  speed  of  a  thunderbolt; 
and  Mr.  Fargus,  waiting  for  it  with  agitated  hands  as  a 
nervous  fielder  awaits  a  rushing  cricket  ball,  would  stop 
it  convulsively  and  usually  drop  and  catch  at  and  miss  the 
spoon,  whereupon  the  entire  chain  of  Farguses  would 
give  together  a  very  loud  "  Tchk!"  and  immediately 
shoot  at  their  parent  a  plate  of  buns  with  "  Buns  —  Buns 
—  Buns  —  Buns  "  all  down  the  line.  Similarly  when 
Mr.  Fargus's  grey  little  face  would  sometimes  appear 
above  the  dividing  wall  to  Sabre  in  the  garden  there 
would  come  a  loud  cry  of  "  Papa,  the  plums !  "  and  from 
several  quarters  of  the  garden  this  would  be  echoed 
"  Papa,  the  plums !  "  "  Papa,  the  plums !  "  and  the  grey 
little  head,  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  would  disappear 
with  great  swiftness. 

The  Farguses  kept  but  one  servant,  a  diminutive  and 
startled  child  with  one  hand  permanently  up  her  back 
in  search  of  an  apron  shoulder  string,  and  permanently 
occupied  in  frantically  pursuing  loud  cracks,  like  pistol 
shots,  of  "  Kate !  —  Kate !  —  Kate !  "  Each  Miss  Far 
gus  "  did  "  something  in  the  house.  One  "  did  "  the 
lamps,  another  "  did "  the  silver,  another  "  did "  the 
fowls.  And  whatever  it  was  they  "  did  "  they  were  al 
ways  doing  it.  Each  Miss  Fargus,  in  addition,  "  did  " 
her  own  room,  and  unitedly  they  all  "  did  "  the  garden. 
Every  doing  was  done  by  the  clock ;  and  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  any  one  Miss  Fargus  could  tell  a  visitor  pre 
cisely  what,  and  at  what  point  of  what,  every  other  Miss 
Fargus  was  doing. 

In  this  well-ordered  scheme  of  things  what  Mr.  Far 
gus  principally  "  did  "  was  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  his 
wife  and  daughters,  and  this  duty  took  him  all  his  time 
and  ingenuity.  From  the  back  windows  of  Sabre's 


66  IF    WINTER    COMES 

house  the  grey  little  figure  was  frequently  to  be  seen 
fleeting  up  and  down  the  garden  paths  in  wary  evasion  of 
daughters  "  doing "  the  garden,  and  there  was  every 
reason  to  suppose  that,  within  the  house,  the  grey  figure 
similarly  fleeted  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  passages. 
"  Where  is  Papa?  "  was  a  constant  cry  from  mouth  to 
mouth  of  the  female  Farguses;  and  fatigue  parties  were 
constantly  being  detached  from  their  duties  to  skirmish  in 
pursuit  of  him. 

In  his  leisure  from  these  flights  Mr.  Fargus  was  in 
tensely  absorbed  in  chess,  in  the  game  of  Patience,  and  in 
the  solution  of  acrostics.  Sabre  was  also  fond  of  chess 
and  attracted  by  acrostics;  and  regular  evenings  of  every 
week  were  spent  by  the  two  in  unriddling  the  problems 
set  in  the  chess  and  acrostic  columns  of  journals  taken  in 
for  the  purpose.  They  would  sit  for  hours  solemnly 
staring  at  one  another,  puffing  at  pipes,  in  quest  of  a  hid 
den  word  beginning  with  one  letter  and  ending  with  an 
other,  or  in  search  of  the  two  master  moves  that  alone 
would  produce  Mate.  (It  was  a  point  of  honour  not  to 
work  out  chess  problems  on  a  board  but  to  do  them  in 
your  head.)  Likewise  for  hours  the  two  in  games  of 
chess  and  in  competitive  Patience,  one  against  the  other, 
to  see  who  would  come  out  first.  And  to  all  these  mental 
exercises  —  chess,  acrostics  and  Patience  —  an  added  in 
terest  was  given  by  Mr.  Fargus's  presentation  of  them  as 
illustrative  of  his  theory  of  life. 

Mr.  Fargus's  theory  of  life  was  that  everybody  was 
placed  in  life  to  fulfil  a  divine  purpose  and  invested  with 
the  power  to  fulfil  it.  "  No,  no,  it 's  not  fatalism,"  Mr. 
Fargus  used  to  sav.  "  Not  predestination.  It 's  just 
exactly  like  a  chess  problem  or  an  acrostic.  The  Creator 
sets  it.  He  knows  the  solution,  the  answer.  You  've 
got  to  work  it  out.  It 's  all  keyed  for  you  just  as  the 
final  move  in  chess  or  the  final  discovery  in  an  acrostic  is 


IF   WINTER    COMES  67 

keyed  up  to  right  from  the  start."  And  on  this  argu 
ment  Mr.  Fargus  introduced  Sabre  to  the  great  entertain* 
ment  in  "  working  back  "  when  a  game  of  Patience  failed 
to  come  out  or  after  a  defeat  in  chess.  You  worked 
back  to  the  immense  satisfaction  of  finding  the  precise 
point  at  which  you  went  wrong.  Up  to  that  point  you 
had  followed  the  keyed  path;  precisely  there  you  missec 
it. 

"  Tremendous,  eh?  "  Mr.  Fargus  used  to  say.  "  Ter 
rific.  If  you  had  n't  done  that  you  'd  have  got  it.  Tha' 
one  move,  all  that  way  back,  was  calamity.  Calamity* 
What  a  word!" 

And  they  would  stare  bemused  eyes  upon  one  an 
other. 

'  You  put  that  into  life,"  Mr.  Fargus  used  to  say. 
"  Imagine  if  every  life,  at  death,  was  worked  back,  and 
where  it  went  wrong,  where  it  made  its  calamity,  and  the 
date,  put  on  the  tombstone.  Eh?  What  a  record! 
Who  'd  dare  walk  through  a  churchyard  ?  " 

Sabre's  objection  was,  "  Of  course  no  one  would  ever 
know.  Suppose  your  idea  's  correct,  who  's  to  say  what 
a  man's  purpose  in  life  was,  let  alone  whether  he  'd  ful 
filled  it?  How  can  you  work  towards  a  purpose  if  you 
don't  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

Then  little  old  Mr.  Fargus  would  grow  intense. 
"  Why,  Sabre,  that 's  just  where  you  are  with  an  acrostic 
or  in  chess.  How  can  you  work  out  the  solution  when 
you  don't  know  what  the  solution  is?" 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  there  is  a  solution." 

Mr.  Fargus's  eyes  would  shine.  "  Well,  there  you 
are!  And  you  know  that  in  life  there  is  a  purpose." 

And  what  attracted  and  interested  Sabre  was  that  the 
little  man,  living  here  his  hunted  life  among  the  terrific 
"  doings  "  of  the  seven  female  Farguses,  firmly  believed 
that  he  was  working  out  and  working  towards  his  de- 


68  IF   WINTER   COMES 

signed  purpose.  He  had  "  worked  back  "  his  every  event 
in  life,  he  said,  and  it  had  brought  him  so  inevitably  to 
Penny  Green  and  to  skipping  about  among  the  seven  that 
he  was  assured  it  was  the  keyed  path  to  his  purpose.  He 
amazed  Sabre  by  telling  him,  without  trace  of  self-con 
sciousness  and  equally  without  trace  of  religious  mania, 
that  he  was  waiting,  daily,  for  God  to  call  upon  him  to 
fulfil  the  purpose  for  which  he  was  placed  there.  He 
expected  it  as  one  expects  a  letter  by  the  post.  When  he 
talked  about  it  to  Sabre  he  positively  trembled  and  shone 
with  eagerness  as  a  child  trembling  and  shining  with  ex 
citement  before  an  unopened  parcel. 

One  day  Sabre  protested.  "  But  look  here,  Fargus. 
Look  here,  how  are  you  going  to  know  when  it  comes? 
It  might  be  anything.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  and  — • 
well,  you  won't  know,  will  you  ?  " 

The  little  man  said,  "  I  believe  I  shall,  Sabre.  I  Ve 
1  worked  back  '  for  years,  as  far  as  ever  my  memory  will 
carry,  and  everything  has  been  so  exactly  keyed  that  I  'm 
convinced  I  'm  in  the  way  of  my  purpose.  I  believe  you 
can  feel  it  if  you  Ve  waited  for  it  like  that.  I  believe 
you  're  asked  '  Ready  ?  '  and  I  want  to  say,  whatever  it  is, 
4  Aye,  Ready ! '  " 

Mysterious  and  awful  suggestion,  Sabre  thought.  Td 
believe  yourself  at  any  moment  to  be  touched  as  by  2 
finger  and  asked  "  Ready?  "  "  Aye,  Ready!  " 

Mysterious  and  awful  intimacy  with  Godl 

IV 

And  then  there  were  the  Perches  —  "Young  Perch 
and  that  everlasting  old  mother  of  his",  as  Mabel  called 
them. 

Sabre  always  spoke  of  them  as  "  Young  Rod,  Pole  or 
Perch  "  and  "  Old  Mrs.  Rod,  Pole  or  Perch."  This  was 


IF   WINTER    COMES  69 

out  of  what  Mabel  called  his  childish  and  incomprehen 
sible  habit  of  giving  nicknames,  —  High  Jinks  and  Low 
Jinks  the  outstanding  and  never- forgiven  example  of  it. 
"  Whatever  's  the  joke  of  it?  "  she  demanded,  when  one 
day  she  found  Sabre  speaking  of  Major  Millet,  another 
neighbour  and  a  great  friend  of  hers,  as  "  Old  Hop 
scotch  Millet." 

"  Whatever  's  the  joke  of  it?  He  doesn't  play  hop 
scotch." 

"  No,  but  he  bounds  about,"  Sabre  explained.  "  You 
know  the  way  he  bounds  about,  Mabel.  He  's  about 
ninety  —  " 

"  I  'm  sure  he  is  n't,  nor  fifty." 

"  Well,  anyway,  he  's  past  his  first  youth,  but  he 's 
always  bounding  about  to  show  how  agile  he  is.  He  's 
always  calling  out  *  Ri  —  te  O!'  and  jumping  to  do  a 
thing  when  there  's  no  need  to  jump.  Hopscotch.  What 
can  you  call  him  but  Hopscotch?  " 

"  But  why  call  him  anything? "  Mabel  said.  "  His 
name  's  Millet." 

Her  annoyance  caused  her  voice  to  squeak.  "  Why 
call  him  anything?  " 

Sabre  laughed.  "  Well,  you  know  how  a  ridiculous 
thing  like  that  comes  into  your  head  and  you  can't  get 
rid  of  it.  You  know  the  way." 

Mabel  declared  she  was  sure  she  did  not  know  the 
way.  "  They  don't  come  into  my  head.  Look  at  the 
Perches  —  not  that  I  care  what  name  you  call  them. 
Rod,  Pole  or  Perch!  What's  the  sense  of  it?  What 
does  it  mean?  " 

Sabre  said  it  did  n't  mean  anything.  "  You  just  get 
some  one  called  Perch  and  then  you  can't  help  think 
ing  of  that  absurd  thing  rod,  pole  or  perch.  It  just 
comes." 

"  I  call  it  childish  and  rude,"  Mabel  said. 


70  IF    WINTER    COMES 


Mrs.  Perch  was  a  fragile  little  body  whose  life  should 
have  been  and  could  have  been  divided  between  her  bed 
and  a  bath  chair.  She  was,  however,  as  she  said,  "  al 
ways  on  her  legs."  And  she  was  always  on  her  legs  and 
always  doing  what  she  had  not  the  strength  to  do,  be 
cause,  as  she  said,  she  "  had  always  done  it."  She  con 
ducted  her  existence  in  the  narrow  space  between  the  ada 
mant  wall  of  the  things  she  had  always  done,  always 
eaten,  and  always  worn,  and  the  adamant  wall  of  the 
things  she  had  never  done,  never  eaten,  and  never  worn. 
There  was  not  much  room  between  the  two. 

She  was  intensely  weak-sighted,  but  she  never  could 
find  her  glasses;  and  she  kept  locked  everything  that 
would  lock,  but  she  never  could  find  her  keys.  She  held 
off  all  acquaintances  by  the  rigid  handle  of  "  that  "  be 
fore  their  names,  but  she  was  very  fond  of  "  that  Mr. 
Sabre  ",  and  Sabre  returned  a  great  affection  for  her. 
With  his  trick  of  seeing  things  with  his  mental  vision  he 
always  saw  old  Mrs.  Perch  toddling  with  moving  lips 
and  fumbling  fingers  between  the  iron  walls  of  her  prej 
udices,  and  this  was  a  pathetic  picture  to  him,  for  ease 
or  pleasure  were  not  discernible  between  the  walls. 
Nevertheless  Mrs.  Perch  found  pleasures  therein,  and 
the  way  in  which  her  face  then  lit  up  added,  to  Sabre, 
an  indescribable  poignancy  to  the  pathos  of  the  picture. 
She  never  could  pass  a  baby  without  stopping  to  adore 
it,  and  an  astounding  tide  of  rejuvenation  would  then 
flood  up  from  mysterious  mains,  welling  upon  her  sil 
vered  cheeks  and  through  her  dim  eyes,  stilling  the  move 
ment  of  her  lips  and  the  fumbling  motions  of  her  fingers. 

Also  amazing  tides  of  glory  when  she  was  watching 
for  her  son,  and  saw  him. 

Young  Perch  was  a  tall  and  slight  young  man  with  a 


IF   WINTER    COMES  71 

happy  laugh  and  an  air  which  suggested  to  Sabre,  after 
puzzlement,  that  his  spirit  was  only  alighted  in  his  body 
as  a  bird  alights  and  swings  upon  a  twig,  not  engrossed 
in  his  body.  He  did  not  look  very  strong.  His  mother 
said  he  had  a  weak  heart.  He  said  he  had  a  particularly 
strong  heart  and  used  to  protest,  "  Oh,  Mother,  I  do  wish 
you  would  n't  talk  that  bosh  about  me."  To  which  Mrs. 
Perch  would  say,  "  It 's  no  good  saying  you  haven't  got 
a  weak  heart  because  you  have  got  a  weak  heart  and 
you  Ve  always  had  a  weak  heart.  Surely  I  ought  to 
know." 

Young  Perch  would  reply,  "You  ought  to  know,  but  you 
don't  know.  You  get  an  idea  in  your  head  and  nothing 
will  ever  get  it  out.  Some  day  you  '11  probably  get  the 
idea  that  I  Ve  got  two  hearts  and  if  Sir  Frederick  Treves 
swore  before  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  that  I  only  had  one 
heart  you  'd  just  say,  '  The  man 's  a  perfect  fool/ 
You  're  awful,  you  know,  Mother." 

He  used  to  reprove  his  mother  like  that. 

Mrs.  Perch  would  give  a  grim  little  laugh,  relishing  her 
strength,  and  then  Young  Perch  would  give  an  involun 
tary  little  laugh,  accepting  his  weakness. 

That  was  how  they  lived. 

Young  Perch  always  carried  about  in  one  pocket  a 
private  pair  of  spectacles  for  his  mother  and  in  another 
a  private  set  of  keys  for  her  most  used  receptacles. 
When  the  search  for  her  spectacles  had  exhausted  even 
her  own  energy,  Young  Perch  would  say,  "  Well,  you  'd 
better  use  these,  Mother."  It  was  of  no  use  to  offer  them 
till  she  was  weakening  in  the  search,  and  she  would  take 
them  grudgingly  with,  "  They  don't  suit  me."  Similarly 
with  the  keys,  accepted  only  after  prolonged  and  mad 
dening  search.  "  Well,  you  'd  better  try  these,  Mother." 
— "  They  injure  the  lock." 

Sabre  often  witnessed  and  took  part  in  these  devasta- 


72  IF   WINTER    COMES 

ting  searches.  Young  Perch  would  always  say,  "  Now 
just  sit  down,  Mother,  instead  of  rushing  about,  and  try 
to  think  quite  calmly  when  you  last  used  them." 

Mrs.    Perch,    intensely    fatigued,    intensely   worried: 
"  How  very  silly  you  are,   Freddie !      I  don't   know 
when  I  last  used  them.     If  I  knew  when  I  used  them,  I 
should  know  where  they  are  now." 

c<  Well,  you  'd  better  use  these  now,  Mother." 
"  They  don't  suit  me.     They  ruin  my  eyes." 
Yet  Mrs.  Rod,  Pole  or  Perch,  who  confided  much  in 
Sabre,  and  who  had  no  confidences  of  any  kind  apart 
from   her   son,  would  often  say  to   Sabre :     "  Freddie 
always  finds  my  keys  for  me,  you  know.     He  finds  every 
thing  for  me,  Mr.  Sabre." 

And  the  tide  of  glory  would  flood  amazingly  upon  her 
face,  transfiguring  it,  and  Sabre  would  feel  an  immensely 
poignant  clutch  at  the  heart. 

VI 

The  Perchs'  house  was  called  Puncher's  —  Punch 
er's  Farm,  a  few  hundred  yards  along  the  lane  leading 
to  the  great  highroad  —  and  it  was  the  largest  and  by 
far  the  most  untidy  house  in  Penny  Green.  Successive 
Punchers  of  old  time,  when  it  had  been  the  most  consid 
erable  farm  in  all  the  country  between  Chovensbury  and 
Tidborough,  had  added  to  it  in  stubborn  defiance  of  all 
laws  of  comfort  and  principles  of  domestic  architecture* 
and  now,  shorn  alike  of  its  Punchers  and  of  its  pastures, 
the  homestead  that  might  easily  have  housed  twenty 
was  mysteriously  filled  to  overflowing  by  two.  Mrs. 
Perch  was  fond  of  saying  she  had  lived  in  nineteen  houses 
"  in  her  time  ",  and  Sabre  had  the  belief  that  the  previous 
eighteen  had  all  been  separately  furnished  and  the  en 
tire  accumulation,  together  with  every  newspaper  taken 


IF   WINTER   COMES  73 

in  during  their  occupation,  brought  to  Puncher's.  Half 
the  rooms  of  Puncher's  were  so  filled  with  furniture  that 
no  more  furniture,  and  scarcely  a  living  person,  could  be 
got  in;  and  half  the  rooms  were  so  filled  with  boxes, 
packages,  bundles,  trunks,  crates,  and  stacks  of  news 
papers  that  no  furniture  at  all  could  be  got  in.  Every 
room  was  known  to  Mrs.  Perch  and  to  Young  Perch  by 
the  name  of  some  article  it  contained  and  Mrs.  Perch 
was  forever  "  going  to  sort  the  room  with  your  Uncle 
Henry's  couch  in  it ",  or  "  the  room  with  the  big  blue 
box  with  the  funny  top  in  it ",  or  some  other  room  simi 
larly  described. 

Mrs.  Perch  was  always  "  going  to  ",  but  as  the  task 
was  always  contingent  upon  either  "  when  I  have  got  a 
servant  into  the  house  ",  or  "  when  I  have  turned  the 
servant  out  of  the  house  " —  these  two  states  represent 
ing  Mrs.  Perch's  occupation  with  the  servant  problem  — 
the  couch  of  Uncle  Henry,  the  big  blue  box  with  the 
funny  top,  and  all  the  other  denizens  of  the  choked 
rooms  remained,  like  threatened  men,  precariously  but  se 
curely. 

But  not  unvisited! 

Sabre  once  spent  a  week  in  the  house,  terminating  a 
summer  holiday  a  little  earlier  than  Mabel,  and  he  had 
formed  the  opinion  that  mother  and  son  never  went  to 
bed  at  night  and  never  got  up  in  the  morning.  In  re 
mote  hours  and  in  remote  quarters  of  the  house  mys 
terious  sounds  disturbed  his  sleep.  Eerily  peering  over 
the  banisters,  he  discerned  the  pair  moving,  like  lost 
souls,  about  the  passages,  Mrs.  Perch  with  the  skirts  of 
a  red  dressing-gown  in  one  hand  and  a  candle  in  the 
other,  Young  Perch  disconsolately  in  her  wake,  yawn 
ing,  with  another  candle.  Young  Perch  called  this 
"  Prowling  about  the  infernal  house  all  night " ;  and 
one  office  of  the  prowl  appeared  to  Sabre  to  be  the  at- 


74  IF    WINTER    COMES 

tendance  of  pans  of  milk  warming  in  a  row  on  oil  stoves 
and  suggesting,  with  the  glimmer  of  the  stoves  and  the 
steam  of  the  pans,  mysterious  oblations  to  midnight  gods. 

VII 

Mrs.  Perch  believed  her  son  could  do  anything  and,  in 
the  matter  of  his  capabilities,  had  the  strange  conviction 
that  he  had  only  to  write  and  ask  anybody,  from  Mr. 
Asquith  downwards,  for  employment  in  the  highest 
offices  in  order  to  obtain  it.  Young  Perch  —  \vho  used 
to  protest,  "  Well,  but  I  've  got  my  work,  Mother  "  — 
was  in  fact  a  horticulturist  of  very  fair  reputation.  He 
specialised  in  sweet  peas  and  roses;  and  Sabre,  in  the 
early  days  of  his  intimacy  with  the  Rod,  Pole  or  Perch 
household,  was  surprised  at  the  livelihood  that  could 
apparently  be  made  by  the  disposal  of  seeds,  blooms  and 
cuttings. 

"  Fred  's  getting  quite  famous  with  his  sweet  peas," 
Sabre  once  said  to  Mrs.  Perch.  "  I  've  been  reading  an 
illustrated  interview  with  him  in  The  Country  House." 

Tides  of  glory  into  Mrs.  Perch's  face.  "  Ah,  if 
only  he  had  n't  worn  that  dreadful  floppy  hat  of  his, 
Mr.  Sabre.  It  could  n't  have  happened  on  a  more  un 
fortunate  day.  I  fully  intended  to  see  how  he  looked 
before  the  photographs  were  taken  and  of  course  it  so 
happened  I  was  turning  a  servant  out  of  the  house  and 
could  n't  attend  to  it.  That  dreadful  floppy  hat  does  n't 
suit  him.  It  never  did  suit  him.  But  he  will  wear  it. 
It 's  no  good  my  saying  anything  to  him." 

This  was  an  opinion  that  old  Mrs.  Perch  was  con 
stantly  reiterating.  Young  Perch  was  equally  given  to 
declaring,  "  I  can't  do  anything  with  my  Mother,  you 
know."  And  yet  it  was  Sabre's  observation  that  each 
life  was  entirely  guided  and  administered  by  the  other. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  75 

Young  Perch  once  told  Sabre  he  had  never  slept  a  night 
away  from  his  mother  since  he  was  seventeen,  and  he  was 
never  absent  from  her  half  a  day  but  she  was  at  the 
window  watching  for  his  return. 

Sabre  was  extraordinarily  attracted  by  the  devotion 
between  the  pair.  Their  interests,  their  habits,  their 
thoughts  were  as  widely  sundered  as  their  years,  yet 
each  was  wholly  and  completely  bound  up  in  the  other. 
When  Sabre  sat  and  talked  with  Young  Perch  of  an 
evening,  old  Mrs.  Perch  would  sit  with  them,  next  her 
son,  in  an  armchair  asleep.  At  intervals  she  would 
start  awake  and  say  querulously,  "  Now  I  suppose  I 
must  be  driven  off  to  bed." 

Young  Perch,  not  pausing  in  what  he  might  be  saying, 
would  stretch  a  hand  and  lay  it  on  his  mother's.  Mrs. 
Perch,  as  though  Freddie's  hand  touched  away  enormous 
weariness  and  care,  would  sigh  restfully  and  sleep  again. 

It  gave  Sabre  extraordinary  sensations. 

If  he  had  been  asked  to  name  his  particular  friends 
these  were  the  friends  he  would  have  named.  He  saw 
them  constantly.  Infrequently  he  saw  another.  Quite 
suddenly  she  came  back  into  his  life. 

Nona  returned  into  his  life. 


PART  TWO 

NONA 


CHAPTER    I 


SABRE,  ambling  his  bicycle  along  the  pleasant  lanes 
towards  Tidborough  one  fine  morning  in  the  early  sum 
mer  of  1912,  was  met  in  his  thoughts  by  observation, 
as  he  topped  a  rise,  of  the  galloping  progress  of  the  light 
railway  that  was  to  link  up  the  Penny  Green  Garden 
Home  with  Tidborough  and  Chovensbury.  In  the  two 
years  since  Lord  Tybar  had,  as  he  had  said,  beneficially 
exercised  his  ancestors  in  their  graves  by  selling  the  land 
on  which  the  Garden  Home  Development  was  to  de 
velop,  Penny  Green  Garden  Home  had  sprung  into  being 
at  an  astonishing  pace. 

The  great  thing  now  was  the  railway. 

And  the  railway's  unsightly  indications  strewn  across 
the  countryside  —  ballast  heaps,  excavations,  noisy  sta 
tionary  engines,  hand-propelled  barrows  bumping  along 
toy  lines,  gangs  of  men  at  labour  with  pick  and  shovel  — 
met  Sabre's  thoughts  on  this  June  morning  because  he 
was  thinking  of  the  Penny  Green  Garden  Home  and  of 
Mabel,  and  of  Mabel  and  of  himself  in  connection  with 
the  Penny  Green  Garden  Home.  Puzzling  thoughts. 

Here  was  a  subject,  this  ambitiously  projected  and 
astonishingly  popular  Garden  Home  springing  up  at  their 
very  doors,  that  interested  him  and  that  intensely  in 
terested  Mabel,  and  yet  it  could  never  be  mentioned  be 
tween  them  without  .  .  .  Only  that  very  morning  at 
breakfast  .  .  .  And  June  - —  he  always  remembered  it  — : 


80  IF    WINTER    COMES 

was  the  anniversary  month  of  their  wedding.  .  .  .  Eight 
years  ago.  .  .  .  Eight  years.  .  .  . 

II 

What  interested  Sabre  in  the  Garden  Home  was  not 
the  settlement  itself  —  he  rather  hated  the  idea  of  Penny 
Green  being  neighboured  and  overrun  by  crowds  of  all 
sorts  of  people  —  but  the  causes  that  gave  rise  to  the 
modern  movement  of  which  it  was  a  shining  example. 
The  causes  had  their  place  in  one  of  the  sections  he  had 
planned  for  "  England  "  and  it  encouraged  his  ideas  for 
that  section  to  see  the  results  here  at  his  doors.  Over 
crowding  in  the  towns;  the  desire  of  men  to  get  away 
from  their  place  of  business;  the  increasing  pressure  of 
business  and  the  increasing  recreational  variety  of  life 
that,  deepening  and  widening  through  the  years,  actuated 
the  desire;  the  extension  of  traffic  facilities  that  permitted 
the  desire;  all  the  modern  tendencies  that  made  work 
less  of  a  pleasure  and  more  of  a  toil,  —  and  out  of  that 
the  whole  absorbing  question  of  the  decay  of  joy  in 
craftsmanship,  and  why.  —  Jolly  interesting ! 

These  were  the  pictures  and  the  stories  that  Sabre  saw 
in  the  roads  and  avenues  and  residences  and  public  build 
ings  leaping  from  mud  and  chaos  into  order  and  activity 
in  the  Garden  Home;  these  were  the  reasons  the  thing 
interested  him  and  why  he  rather  enjoyed  seeing  it 
springing  up  about  him.  But  these,  he  thought  as  he  rode 
along,  were  not  the  reasons  the  thing  interested  Mabel. 
And  when  he  mentioned  them  to  her.  .  .  .  And  when 
she,  for  her  part,  spoke  of  it  to  him  —  and  she  was  always 
speaking  of  it  —  the  reasons  for  her  enthusiasm  retired 
him  at  once  into  a  shell.  Funny  state  of  affairs ! 

Mabel  was  convinced  he  loathed  and  detested  the 
Penny  Green  Garden  Home  Development;  and  actually 


IF   WINTER   COMES  81 

he  rather  liked  the  Penny  Green  Garden  Home  Develop 
ment  ;  and  yet  he  could  n't  tell  her  so ;  and  she  did  not 
understand  in  the  least  when  he  tried  to  tell  her  so. 
Funny  —  eight  years  ago  this  month.  .  .  . 

His  thoughts  went  on.  And,  come  to  think  of  it,  the 
relations  between  them  were  precisely  similar  in  regard 
to  nearly  everything  they  ever  discussed.  And  yet  they 
would  be  called,  and  were,  a  perfectly  happy  couple.  Per 
fectly  ?  Was  every  happy  married  couple  just  what  they 
were?  Was  married  happiness,  then,  merely  the  nega 
tion  of  violent  unhappiness?  Merely  not  beating  your 
wife,  and  your  wife  not  drinking  or  running  up  debts? 
He  thought :  "  No,  no,  there 's  something  more  in  it 
than  that."  And  then  his  forehead  wrinkled  up  in  his 
characteristic  habit  and  he  thought:  "  Of  course,  it 's  my 
fault.  It  is  n't  only  this  dashed  Garden  Home.  It 's 
everything.  It  is  n't  only  once.  It 's  always.  It  can't 
possibly  be  her  fault  always.  It 's  mine.  I  can  see 
that. 

"  Take  this  morning  at  breakfast.  Perfectly  good 
temper  both  of  us.  Then  she  said,  '  Those  houses  in 
King's  Close  are  going  to  be  eighty  pounds  a  year ;  and, 
what  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Toller  is  going  to  take  one ! ' 
Immediately  I  was  riled.  Why  should  I  get  riled  be 
cause  she  says  that  Mrs.  Toller  is  going  to  take  a  house 
for  eighty  pounds  a  year?  I  just  rustled  the  newspaper. 
Why  on  earth  could  n't  I  say,  '  Good  lord,  is  she  ? '  or 
something  like  that  ?  Why  on  earth  could  n't  I  even  not 
rustle  the  newspaper?  She  knows  what  it  means  when 
I  rustle  the  paper.  I  meant  her  to  know.  Why  should 
I  ?  It 's  the  easiest  thing  on  earth  for  me  to  respond  to 
what  she  says.  I  know  perfectly  well  what  she  's  get 
ting  at.  I  could  easily  have  said  that  Mrs.  Toller  would 
have  old  Toller  in  the  workhouse  one  of  these  days  if  he 
did  n't  watch  it.  I  could  have  said,  '  She  '11  be  keeping 


82  IF   WINTER   COMES 

three  servants  next,  and  she  can't  keep  one  as  it  is.' 
Mabel  would  have  loved  that.  She  'd  have  laughed." 

He  thought,  "  Why  should  she  love  that  sort  of  tripe 
1 —  gossip  ?  " 

He  thought,  "Damn  it,  why  shouldn't  she?  Why 
should  I  mind?  Why  should  I  rustle  the  newspaper? 
She  can't  enter  into  things  that  interest  me;  but  I  can, 
I  could  enter  into  things  that  interest  her.  Why  don't 
I?  Of  course  I  can  see  perfectly  clearly  how  she  looks 
at  things.  It 's  just  as  rotten  for  her  that  I  can't  talk 
with  her  about  her  ideas  as  it  is  rotten  for  me  that  she 
does  n't  see  my  ideas.  And  it  is  n't  rotten  for  me.  I 
don't  mind  it.  I  don't  expect  it.  I  don't  expect  it.  ... " 

And  at  that  precise  moment  of  his  thoughts,  the  gar 
rulous  Hapgood,  seeing  his  face,  could  have  said  to 
another,  as  he  said  before,  "  There!  See  what  I  mean? 
Looks  as  though  he  'd  lost  something  and  was  wondering 
where  it  was.  Ha !  " 

III 

A  genial  shouting  and  the  clatter  of  agitated  hoofs 
jerked  Sabre  from  his  thoughts. 

"Hullo!  Hi!  Help!  Out  collision-mats!  Stop 
the  cab!  Look  out,  Sabre!  Sabre!" 

He  suddenly  became  aware  —  and  he  jammed  on  his 
brakes  and  dismounted  by  straddling  a  leg  to  the  ground 
—  that  in  the  narrow  lane  he  was  between  two  plunging 
horses.  Their  riders  had  divided  to  make  way  for  his 
bemused  approach.  They  had  violently  sundered,  ex 
pecting  him  to  stop,  until  he  was  almost  on  top  of  them, 
and  one  of  the  pair  was  now  engaged  in  placating  his 
horse,  which  resented  this  sudden  snatching  at  bit  and 
prick  of  spur,  and  persuading  it  to  return  to  the  level 
road. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  83 

On  one  side  the  lane  was  banked  steeply  up  in  a  cut 
ting.  The  horse  of  the  rider  on  this  side  stood  on  its 
hind  legs  and  appeared  to  be  performing  a  series  of  post 
man's  double  knocks  on  the  bank  with  its  forelegs. 
Lord  Tybar,  who  bestrode  it,  and  who  did  not  seem  to 
be  at  all  concerned  by  his  horse  copying  a  postman, 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  Sabre,  showing  an  amused 
grin,  and  said,  "  Thanks,  Sabre.  This  is  jolly.  I  like 
this.  Come  on,  old  girl.  This  way  down.  Keep  pass 
ing  on,  please." 

The  old  girl,  an  extraordinarily  big  and  handsome  chest 
nut  mare,  dropped  her  forelegs  to  the  level  of  the  road, 
where  she  exchanged  the  postman's  knocking  for  a  com 
plicated  and  exceedingly  nimble  dance,  largely  on  two 
legs. 

Lord  Tybar,  against  her  evident  intentions,  skilfully 
directed  the  steps  of  this  dance  into  a  turning  movement 
so  that  she  and  her  rider  now  faced  Sabre ;  and  while  she 
bounded  through  the  concluding  movements  of  the  pas 
seul  he  continued  in  the  same  whimsical  tone  and  with 
the  same  engaging  smile,  "  Thanks  still  more,  Sabre. 
This  is  extraordinarily-  good  for  the  liver.  Devilish 
graceful,  are  n't  I  ?  See,  I  'm  only  holding  on  with  one 
hand!  Marvellous.  No  charge  for  this."  And  as  the 
mare  came  to  rest  and  quivered  at  Sabre  with  her  beauti 
ful  nostrils,  "  Ah,  the  music's  stopped.  Delicious.  How 
well  your  step  suits  mine !  " 

"  Ass !  "  laughed  a  voice  above  them ;  and  Sabre,  who 
had  almost  forgotten  there  was  another  horse  when  he 
had  abruptly  wakened  and  dismounted,  looked  up  at  it. 

The  other  horse  was  standing  with  complete  and  en 
tirely  unconcerned  statuesqueness  on  the  low  bank  which 
bounded  the  lane  on  his  other  side.  Lady  Tybar  had 
taken  it  —  or  it  had  taken  Lady  Tybar  —  out  of  danger  in 
a  sideways  bound,  and  horse  and  rider  remained  precisely 


84  IF    WINTER    COMES 

where  the  sideways  bound  had  taken  them  as  if  it  were 
exactly  where  they  had  intended  to  go  all  that  morning, 
and  as  if  they  were  now  settled  there  for  all  time  as  a 
living  equestrian  statue,  —  a  singularly  striking  and 
beautiful  statue. 

"  We  are  up  here,"  said  Lady  Tybar.  Her  voice  had 
a  very  clear,  fine  note.  "  We  are  rather  beautiful  up 
here,  don't  you  think?  Rather  darlings?  No  one 
takes  the  faintest  notice  of  us ;  we  might  be  off  the  earth. 
But  we  don't  mind  a  bit.  Hullo,  Derry  and  Toms, 
Marko  is  actually  taking  off  his  hat  to  us.  Bow,  Derry." 

Her  horse,  as  if  he  perfectly  understood,  tossed  his 
head,  and  she  drew  attention  to  it  with  a  deprecatory  little 
gesture  of  her  hand  and  then  said,  "  Shall'we  come  down 
now?  Is  your  dance  quite  finished,  Tony?  Are  you 
content,  Marko  ?  All  right.  We  '11  descend.  This  is 
us  descending.  Lady  Tybar,  who  is  a  superb  horsewoman, 
descending  a  precipice  on  her  beautiful  half-bred  Derry 
and  Toms,  a  winner  at  several  shows." 

Derry  and  Toms  stepped  down  off  the  bank  with  com 
plete  assurance  and  superb  dignity.  With  equal  pre- 
dision,  moving  his  feet  as  though  there  were  marked 
for  them  certain  exact  spots  which  he  covered  with  infin 
ite  lightness  and  exactitude,  he  turned  about  and  stood 
beside  his  partner  in  exquisite  and  immobile  pose. 

IV 

Thus  the  two  riders  faced  Sabre,  smiling  upon  him. 
He  stood  holding  his  bicycle  immediately  in  front  of 
them.  The  mare  continued  to  quiver  her  beautiful  nos 
trils  at  him;  every  now  and  then  she  blew  a  little  agi 
tated  puff  through  them,  causing  them  to  expand  and  re 
veal  yet  more  exquisitely  their  glorious  softness  and  deli 
cacy. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  85 

Sabre  thought  that  the  riders,  with  their  horses,  made 
the  most  striking,  and  somehow  affecting  picture  of  virile 
and  graceful  beauty  he  could  ever  have  imagined. 

Lord  Tybar,  who  was  thirty-two,  was  debonair  and  at 
tractive  of  countenance  to  a  degree.  His  eyes,  which 
were  grey,  were  extraordinarily  mirthful,  mischievous. 
A  supremely  airy  and  careless  and  bold  spirit  looked 
through  those  eyes  and  shone  through  their  flashes  and 
glints  and  sparkles  of  diamond  light.  His  face  was  thin 
and  of  tanned  olive.  His  face  seemed  to  say  to  the 
world,  challengingly,  "  I  am  here !  I  have  arrived ! 
Bring  out  your  best  and  watch  me !  "  There  were  people 
—  women  —  who  said  he  had  a  cruel  mouth.  They  said 
this,  not  with  censure  or  regret,  but  with  a  deliciously 
fearful  rapture  as  though  the  cruel  mouth  (if  it  were 
cruel)  were  not  the  least  part  of  his  attraction. 

Lord  Tybar's  lady,  who  was  twenty-eight,  carried  in 
her  countenance  and  in  her  hair  the  pleasing  complement 
of  her  lord's  tan  and  olive  hue  and  of  his  cropped  black 
poll.  She  was  extraordinarily  fair.  Her  skin  was  of 
the  hue  and  of  the  sheen  of  creamy  silk,  and  glowed  be 
neath  its  hue.  It  presented  amazing  delicacy  and  yet  an 
exquisite  firmness.  Children,  playing  with  her,  and  she 
delighted  in  playing  with  children  (but  she  was  childless), 
often  asked  to  stroke  her  face.  They  would  stare  at  her 
face  in  that  immensely  absorbed  way  in  which  children 
stare,  and  then  ask  to  touch  her  face  and  just  stroke  it; 
their  baby  fingers  were  not  more  softly  silken.  Of  her 
hair  Lady  Tybar  had  said  frequently,  from  her  girlhood 
upwards,  that  it  was  "  a  most  sickening  nuisance."  She 
bound  it  tightly  as  if  to  punish  and  be  firm  with  the  sick 
ening  nuisance  that  it  was  to  her.  And  these  close, 
gleaming  plaits  and  coils  children  also  liked  to  touch  with 
their  soft  fingers. 

Her  name  was  Nona. 


86  IF   WINTER    COMES 

Out  of  a  hundred  people  who  passed  her  by  quite  a 
considerable  number  would  have  denied  that  she  was 
beautiful.  Her  face  was  round  and  saucy  rather  than  oval 
and  classical.  Incontestable  the  striking  attraction  of 
her  complexion  and  of  her  hair;  but  not  beautiful, — 
quite  a  number  would  have  said,  and  did  say.  Oh,  no; 
pretty,  perhaps,  in  a  way,  but  that 's  all. 

But  her  face  was  much  more  than  beautiful  to  Sabre. 


Until  this  moment,  standing  there  with  his  bicycle, 
she  on  her  beautiful  horse,  he  had  not  seen  her,  nor  Lord 
Tybar,  for  two  years.  They  had  been  travelling.  Now 
seeing  her,  thus  unexpectedly  and  thus  gallantly  envi 
roned,  his  mind,  with  that  astonishing  precision  of  detail 
and  capriciousness  of  selection  with  which  the  mind  re 
tains  pictures,  reproduced  certain  masculine  discussion  of 
her  looks  at  a  time  when,  as  Nona  Holiday  of  Chovens- 
bury  Court,  daughter  of  Sir  Hadden  Holiday,  M.  P.  for 
Tidborough,  she  had  contributed  to  local  gossip  by  be 
coming  engaged  to  Lord  Tybar. 

"  Pretty  girl,  you  know,"  masculine  discussion  had 
said ;  and  Sabre  had  thought,  "  Fools !  " 

"  Oh,  hardly  pretty,"  others  had  maintained ;  and  again 
"  Fools !  "  he  had  thought.  "  Pretty  —  pretty!  Hardly 
pretty  —  hardly  —  !  "  Furious,  he  had  flung  away 
from  them. 

The  time  and  the  place  of  the  discussion  had  been 
when  the  news  of  her  engagement  had  just  been  brought 
into  the  clubhouse  of  the  Penny  Green  Golf  Club.  He 
had  flung  out  into  the  rain  which  had  caused  the  pavilion 
to  be  crowded.  Fools!  Was  she  pretty!  Did  they 
mean  to  say  they  could  n't  see  in  her  face  what  he  saw  in 
her  face?  And  then  he  thought,  "  But  of  course 


IF    WINTER    COMES  87 

they  have  n't  loved  her.  It 's  nothing  to  them  what 
they  've  only  just  heard,  but  what  she  told  me  herself 
this  morning.  .  .  .  And  she  knew  what  it  meant  to  me 
when  she  told  me.  .  .  .  Although  we  said  nothing.  .  .  . 
Of  course  I  see  her  differently." 

He  saw  her  "  differently  "  now  after  two  years  of  not 
seeing  her,  and  ten  years  since  that  day  of  gossip  at  the 
golf  club.  Pretty!  .  .  .  Strange  how  he  could  always 
remember  that  smell  of  the  rain  as  he  had  come  out  of 
the  clubhouse  ....  and  a  strange  fragrance  in  the  air  as 
now  he  looked  upon  her. 

Upon  the  warm  and  trembling  air,  as  he  stood  with  his 
bicycle  before  the  horses,  were  borne  to  him  savour  of 
hay  newly  turned  in  the  fields  about,  and  of  high  spring 
tide  blowing  in  the  hedgerows;  and  with  them  delicious 
essence  from  the  warm,  gleaming  bodies  of  the  horses, 
and  pungent  flavour  of  the  saddlery,  and  the  mare's 
sweet  breath  puffed  close  to  his  face  in  little  gusty  agita 
tions. 

The  shining,  tingling  picture  of  strength  and  beauty 
superbly  modelled  that  the  riders  and  their  horses  made, 
seemed,  as  it  were,  to  arise  out  of  and  be  suspended  shim 
mering  in  the  heart  of  the  warm  incense  that  he  savoured. 
So  when  a  sorcerer  casts  spiced  herbs  upon  the  flame,  and 
scented  vapour  uprises,  and  in  the  vapour  images  ap 
pear. 

Exquisite  picture  of  strength  and  beauty  superbly 
modelled :  the  horses'  glossy  coats  glinting  all  a  polished 
chestnut's  hues;  the  perfect  artistry  and  symmetry  of 
slender  limbs,  and  glorious,  arching  necks,  and  noble 
heads,  and  velvet  muzzles;  the  dazzling  bits  and  chains 
and  buckles;  the  glinting  bridles,  reins  and  saddles; 
Lord  Tybar's  exquisitely  poised  figure,  so  perfectly  main 
taining  and  carrying  up  the  symmetry  of  his  horse  as  to 
suggest  the  horse  would  be  disfigured,  truncated,  were  he 


88  IF    WINTER    COMES 

to  dismount;  his  taking  swagger,  his  gay,  fine  face;  and 
she.  .  .  . 

An  incantation:  jingle  of  bits  mouthed  in  those  vel 
vet  muzzles;  a  hoof  pawed  sharply  on  the  road;  swish 
of  long,  restless  tails;  creaking  of  saddlery;  and  sudden 
bursts  of  all  the  instruments  in  unison  when  heads  were 
tossed  and  shaken.  Remotely  the  whirr  of  a  reaping 
machine.  And  somewhere  birds.  .  .  . 

Pretty ! 

VI 

Greetings  had  been  exchanged;  his  apologies  for  his 
blundering  descent  upon  them  laughed  at.  Lord  Tybar 
was  saying,  "  Well,  it 's  a  tiger  of  a  place,  this  Garden 
Home  of  yours,  Sabre  — 

"  It 's  not  mine,"  said  Sabre.     "  God  forbid." 

"  Ah,  you  Ve  not  got  the  same  beautiful  local  patriot 
ism  that  I  have.  It 's  one  of  my  most  elegant  qualities,  my 
passionate  devotion  to  my  countryside.  That  was  what 
that  corker  of  a  vicar  of  yours,  Boom  Bagshaw,  told 
me  I  was  when  I  wept  with  joy  while  he  was  showing  me 
round.  Yes,  and  now  I  'm  a  patron  of  the  Garden  Home 
Trust  or  a  governor  or  a  vice-priest  or  something.  I  am 
really.  What  is  it  I  am,  Nona?  " 

'  You  're  a  bloated  aristocrat  and  a  bloodsucker," 
Nona  told  him  in  her  clear,  fine  voice.  "  And  you  're 
living  on  estates  which  your  brutal  ancestors  ravaged 
from  the  people.  That 's  what  you  are,  Tony.  I 
showed  it  you  in  the  Searchlight  yesterday.  And,  I  say, 
don't  use  '  elegant ';  that 's  mine." 

"  Oh,  by  gad,  yes,  so  I  am,"  said  Lord  Tybar. 
"  Bloodsucker !  Good  lord,  fancy  being  a  blood 
sucker  !  " 

He  looked  so  genuinely  rueful  and  abashed  that  Sabre 


IF    WINTER    COMES  89 

laughed;  and  then  said  to  Nona,  "  Why  is  elegant 
1  yours  ',  Lady  Tybar?  " 

She  made  a  little  pouting  motion  at  him  with  her  lips. 
"  Marko,  I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  n't  call  me  Lady 
Tybar.  Dash  it,  we  've  called  one  another  Nona  and 
Marko  for  about  a  thousand  years,  long  before  I  ever 
knew  Tony.  And  just  because  I  'm  married  —  " 

"  And  to  a  mere  loathsome  bloodsucker,  too,"  Lord 
Tybar  interposed. 

4  Yes,  especially  to  a  bloodsucker.  Just  remember  to 
say  Nona,  will  you,  otherwise  there  '11  be  a  cruel  scene 
between  us.  I  told  you  about  it  before  I  went  away. 
You  don't  suppose  Tony  minds,  do  you  ?  " 

"  And  Sabre,"  said  Lord  Tybar,  "  what  the  devil  does 
it  matter  what  a  bloated  robber  minds,  anyway  ?  That 's 
the  way  to  look  at  me,  Sabre.  Trample  me  underfoot, 
my  boy.  I  'm  a  pestilent  survivor  of  the  feudal  system, 
aren't  I,  Nona?" 

"  Absolutely.  So,  Marko,  don't  be  a  completer  noodle 
than  you  already  are." 

"  Ah,  you  're  getting  it  now."  Lord  Tybar  murmured. 
"  I  'm  a  noodle,  too,  the  Searchlight  says." 

He  somehow  gave  Sabre  the  impression  of  taking  an 
even  deeper  enjoyment  in  the  incident  between  his  wife 
and  Sabre  than  the  enjoyment  he  clearly  had  in  his  own 
facetiousness.  He  was  slightly  turned  in  his  saddle  so 
as  to  look  directly  at  Nona,  and  he  listened  and  interposed, 
and  turned  his  eyes  from  her  face  to  Sabre's,  and  from 
Sabre's  back  to  hers,  with  his  handsome  head  slightly 
cocked  to  one  side  and  with  much  gleaming  in  his  eyes; 
rather  as  if  he  had  on  some  private  mock. 

Fantastical  notion !     What  mock  could  he  have  ? 

"  Well,  about  my  word  '  elegant ',"  Nona  was  going 
on,  "  and  why  it  is  mine  —  were  n't  you  asking?  " 

Sabre  said  he  had.     "  Yes,  why  yours  ?  "• 


90  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  Why,  you  see,  Derry  and  Toms  is  a  case  of  it."  She 
tickled  her  horse's  ears  with  her  riding  switch,  and  he 
stamped  a  hoof  on  the  ground  and  arched  his  neck  as 
though  he  knew  he  was  a  case  of  it  and  was  proud  of  be 
ing  a  case  of  it.  "I  wanted  an  elegant  name  for  him 
and  I  always  think  two  names  are  so  elegant  for  a 
firm  —  " 

"  Bloodsucker  and  Noodle  are  mine,"  said  Lord  Tybar 
in  a  very  gloomy  voice;  and  they  laughed. 

"  —  So  I  called  him  Derry  and  Toms." 

Sabre  pointed  out  that  this  still  left  her  own  possession 
of  the  word  unexplained. 

"  Oh,  Marko,  you  're  dreadfully  matter-of-fact.  You 
always  were.  Why,  Tony  and  I  get  fond  of  a  word  and 
then  we  have  it  for  our  own,  whichever  of  us  it  is,  and 
use  it  for  everything.  And  elegant 's  mine  just  now. 
I  'm  dreadfully  fond  of  it.  It 's  so  —  well,  elegant :  there 
you  are,  you  see !  " 

Lord  Tybar  announced  that  he  had  just  become  at 
tached  to  a  new  word  and  desired  to  possess  it.  He  was 
going  to  have  blood.  "  You  see,  if  I  live  by  sucking 
blood  —  " 

'  Tony,  you  're  disgusting !  " 

"  I  know.  I  'm  the  most  frightful  things.  I  'm  just 
beginning  to  realise  it.  Yes,  blood 's  mine,  Nona. 
Copyright.  All  rights  reserved.  Blood." 

"  Well,  so  long  as  you  stick  to  the  noun  and  don't  use 
the  adjective,"  she  said;  and  they  all  laughed  again. 

Lord  Tybar  gathered  up  his  reins  and  stroked  his  left 
hand  along  them.  "  Well,  kindness  to  animals !  "  he 
said.  "  That 's  another  of  my  beautiful  qualities.  The 
perfect  understanding  between  me  and  my  horses  tells 
me  the  mare  has  seen  enough  of  you,  Sabre.  She  tells 
me  all  her  thoughts  in  her  flanks  and  they  Marconi  up  my 
nervous  and  receptive  legs.  I  must  write  and  tell  the 


IF   WINTER    COMES  91 

Searchlight  that.  Perhaps  they  '11  think  better  of  me." 
—  The  mare,  feeling  his  hand,  began  to  dance  coquet- 
tishly.  "  You  '11  come  up  and  see  us  often,  now  you 
know  we're  back,  won't  you?  Nona  likes  seeing  you, 
don't  you,  Nona?  "  And  again  he  looked  from  Nona  to 
Sabre  and  back  at  Nona  again  with  that  look  of  mocking 
drollery. 

"  Oh,  you  're  all  right,  Marko,"  Nona  agreed,  "  when 
you  're  not  too  matter-of-fact.  Yes,  do  come  up.  There  's 
always  a  harsh  word  and  a  blow  for  you  at  Northrepps." 

The  mare  steadied  again.  She  stretched  out  her  neck 
towards  Sabre  and  quivered  her  nostrils  at  him,  sensing 
him.  He  put  up  a  hand  to  stroke  her  beautiful  muzzle 
and  she  threw  up  her  head  violently  and  swerved  sharply 
around. 

Not  in  the  least  discomposed,  Lord  Tybar,  his  body  in 
perfect  rhythm  with  her  curvettings,  laughed  at  Sabre 
over  his  shoulder.  "  She  thinks  you  're  up  to  something, 
Sabre.  She  thinks  you  've  got  designs  on  us.  Marvel 
lous  how  I  know !  Whisper  and  I  shall  hear,  loved  one. 
You  '11  hurt  yourself  in  a  minute." 

The  light  in  his  smiling  eyes  was  surely  a  mocking 
light.  "Thinks  you're  up  to  something!  Thinks 
you  've  got  designs  on  us !  " 

The  mare  was  wheedled  round  again  to  her  former 
position ;  against  her  will,  but  somehow  as  the  natural  re 
sult  of  her  dancing.  Marvellous  how  he  directed  her 
caprices  into  his  own  intentions  and  against  her  own. 
But  Lord  Tybar  was  now  looking  away  behind  him  to 
where  the  adjoining  meadow  sloped  far  away  and  steeply 
to  a  copse.  In  the  hollow  only  the  tops  of  the  trees 
could  be  seen.  His  eyes  were  screwed  up  in  distant 
vision.  He  said,  "  Dash  it,  there 's  that  old  blighter 
Sooper.  He  's  been  avoiding  me.  Now  I  've  got  him. 
Nona,  you  won't  mind  getting  back  alone?  I  must 


92  IF    WINTER    COMES 

speak  to  Sooper.  I  'm  going  to  have  his  blood  over  that 
fodder  business.  Blood !  My  word !  Good !  " 

He  twisted  the  mare  in  a  wonderfully  quick  and 
dexterous  movement.  "  Good-by,  Sabre.  You  don't 
mind,  Nona  ?  "  And  he  flashed  back  a  glance.  He  lifted 
the  mare  over  the  low  bank  with  a  superbly  easy  mo 
tion.  He  turned  to  wave  his  hand  as  she  landed  nimbly 
in  the  meadow,  and  he  cantered  away,  image  of  grace, 
poetry  of  movement.  Fortune's  favourite! 

The  two  left  watched  him.  At  the  brow  of  the  meadow 
he  turned  again  in  his  saddle  and  waved  again  jaun 
tily.  They  waved  reply.  He  was  over  the  brow.  Out 
of  sight. 

VII 

The  features  of  the  level  valley  beyond  the  brow  where 
only  he  could  have  seen  the  individual  he  sought,  were, 
at  that  distance,  of  Noah's  Ark  dimensions.  "  How  he 
could  have  recognised  any  one !  "  said  Nona,  her  gaze 
towards  the  valley.  "  I  can't  even  see  any  one.  He  's 
got  eyes  like  about  four  hawks !  " 

Sabre  said,  "  And  rides  like  a  —  what  do  they  call 
those  things  ?  —  like  a  centaur." 

She  turned  her  head  towards  him.  "  He  does  every 
thing  better  than  any  one  else,"  she  said.  "  That 's 
Tony's  characteristic.  Everything.  He 's  perfectly 
wonderful." 

These  were  enthusiastic  words;  but  she  spoke  them 
without  enthusiasm;  she  merely  pronounced  them. 
"  Well,  I  'm  off  too,"  she  said.  "  And  what  about  you, 
Marko  ?  You  're  going  to  work,  are  n't  you  ?  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  be  able  to  stop  and  gossip  like  this. 
You  're  not  getting  an  idler,  are  you  ?  You  used  to  be 
such  a  devoted  hard-worker.  My  word ! "  and  she 


IF    WINTER    COMES  93 

laughed  as  though  at  some  amused  memory  of  his  devo 
tion  to  work. 

He  laughed  too.  They  certainly  had  many  recollec 
tions  in  common,  though  not  all  laughable.  "  I  don't 
think  I  'm  quite  so  —  so  earnest  as  I  used  to  be,"  he 
smiled. 

"  Ah,  but  I  like  you  earnest,  Marko." 

There  was  the  tiniest  silence  between  them.  Yet  i\ 
seemed  to  Sabre  a  very  long  silence. 

She  was  again  the  one  to  speak,  and  her  tone  was 
rather  abrupt  and  high-pitched  as  if  she,  too,  were  con 
scious  of  a  long  silence  and  broke  it  deliberately,  as  one 
breaks,  with  an  effort,  constraint. 

"And  how's  Mabel?" 

"  She  's  all  right.  She  's  ever  so  keen  on  this  Garden 
Home  business." 

"  She  would  be,"  said  Nona. 

"  And  so  am  I !  "  said  Sabre.  Something  in  her  tone 
made  him  say  it  defiantly. 

She  laughed.  "  I  'm  sure  you  are,  Marko.  Well, 
good-by  " ;  and  as  Derry  and  Toms  began  to  turn  with  his 
customary  sedateness  of  motion  she  made  the  remark, 
"  I  'm  so  glad  you  don't  wear  trouser  clips,  Marko.  I 
do  loathe  trouser  clips." 

He  told  her  that  he  rode  "  one  of  those  chainless 
bikes." 

He  said  it  rather  mumblingly.  Exactly  in  that  tone 
she  used  to  say  things  like,  "  I  do  like  you  in  that  brown 
suit,  Marko." 

VIII 

He  resumed  his  ride.  A  mile  farther  on  he  overtook, 
on  a  slight  rise,  an  immense  tree  trunk  slung  between 
three  pairs  of  wheels  and  dragged  by  two  tremendous 
horses,  harnessed  tandemwise.  As  he  passed  them  came 


94  IF    WINTER    COMES 

the    smell    of    warm   horseflesh   and   his    thought   was 
"Pretty!" 

He  shot  ahead  and  a  line  came  into  his  mind : 
"  Was  this  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships?  " 
Well,   he   had  had   certain  aspirations,    dreams,   vi 
sions.  ... 

He  was  upon  the  crest  whence  the  road  ran  down  into 
Tidborough.  Beneath  him  the  spires  of  the  Cathedral 
lifted  exquisitely  above  the  surrounding  city. 

"  Those  houses  in  King's  Close  are  going  to  be  eighty 
pounds  a  year,  and  what  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Toller  is 
going  to  take  one!".  .  . 


CHAPTER    II 
I 

SABRE  found  but  little  business  awaiting  him  when  he 
got  to  his  office.  When  he  had  disposed  of  it  he  sat  some 
little  time  staring  absent-mindedly  at  the  cases  whereon 
were  ranged  the  books  of  his  publication.  Then  he  took 
out  the  manuscript  of  "  England  "  and  turned  over  the 
pages.  He  wondered  what  Nona  would  think  of  it. 
He  would  like  to  tell  her  about  it. 

Twyning  came  in. 

Twyning  rarely  entered  Sabre's  room.  Sabre  did  not 
enter  Twyning's  twice  in  a  year.  Their  work  ran  on 
separate  lines  and  there  was  something,  unexpressed,  the 
reverse  of  much  sympathy  between  them.  Twyning  was 
an  older  man  than  Sabre.  He  was  only  two  years  older 
in  computation  by  age  but  he  was  very  much  more  in 
appearance,  in  manner  and  in  business  experience.  He 
had  been  in  the  firm  as  a  boy  checker  when  Sabre  was 
entering  Tidborough  School.  He  had  attracted  Mr. 
Fortune's  special  attention  by  disclosing  a  serious  scamp 
ing  of  finish  in  a  set  of  desks  and  he  had  risen  to  head 
clerk  when  Sabre  was  at  Cambridge.  On  the  day  that 
Sabre  entered  the  firm  he  had  been  put  "  on  probation  " 
in  the  position  he  now  held,  and  on  the  day  that  Sabre's 
father  retired  he  had  been  confirmed  in  the  position.  He 
regarded  Sabre  as  an  amateur  and  he  was  privately  dis 
turbed  by  the  fact  that  a  man  who  "  did  not  know  the 
ropes  "  and  had  not  "  been  through  the  mill "  should 


96  IF   WINTER    COMES 

come  to  a  position  equal  in  standing  to  his  own.  Never 
theless  he  accepted  the  fact,  showing  not  the  smallest 
animosity.  He  was  always  very  ready  to  be  cordial 
towards  Sabre;  but  his  cordiality  took  a  form  in  which 
Sabre  had  never  seen  eye  to  eye  with  him.  The  attitude 
he  extended  to  Sabre  was  that  he  and  Sabre  were  two 
young  fellows  under  a  rather  pig-headed  old  employer 
and  that  they  could  have  many  jokes  and  grievances  and 
go-ahead  schemes  in  companionship  together.  Sabre 
did  not  accept  this  view.  He  gave  Twyning,  from  the 
first,  the  impression  of  considering  himself  as  working 
alongside  Mr.  Fortune  instead  of  beneath  him;  and  he 
was  cold  to  and  refused  to  participate  in  the  truant 
schoolboy  air  which  Twyning  adopted  when  they  were 
together.  Twyning  called  this  "  sidey."  He  was  anx 
ious  to  show  Sabre,  when  Sabre  first  came  to  the  firm, 
the  best  places  to  lunch  in  Tidborough,  but  Sabre  was 
frequently  lunching  with  one  of  the  School  housemasters 
or  at  the  Masters'  common  room.  Twyning  thought  this 
stand-offish. 

II 

Twyning  was  of  middle  height,  very  thin,  black-haired. 
His  clean-shaven  face  was  deeply  furrowed  in  rigid-look 
ing  furrows  which  looked  as  though  shaving  would  be 
an  intricate  operation.  He  held  himself  very  stiffly  and 
spoke  stiffly  as  though  the  cords  of  his  larynx  were  also 
rigidly  inclined.  When  not  speaking  he  had  a  habit  of 
breathing  rather  noisily  through  his  nose  as  if  he  were 
doing  deep  breathing  exercises.  He  was  married  and 
had  a  son  of  whom  he  was  immensely  proud,  aged 
eighteen  and  doing  well  in  a  lawyer's  office. 

He  came  in  and  closed  the  door.  He  had  a  sheet  of 
paper  in  his  hand. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  97 

Sabre,  engrossed,  glanced  up.  "  Hullo,  Twyning." 
He  wrote  a  word  and  then  put  down  his  pen.  "  Any 
thing  you  want  me  about?"  He  lay  back  in  his  chair 
and  stared,  frowning,  at  the  manuscript  before  him. 

"  Nothing  particular,  if  you  're  busy,"  Twyning  said. 
"  I  just  looked  in."  He  advanced  the  paper  in  his  hand 
and  looked  at  it  as  if  about  to  add  something  else.  But 
he  said  nothing  and  stood  by  Sabre's  chair,  also  looking 
at  the  manuscript.  "  That  that  book?  " 

"  M'm."  Sabre  was  trying  to  retain  his  thoughts.  He 
felt  them  slipping  away  before  Twyning's  presence.  He 
could  hear  Twyning  breathing  through  his  nose  and  felt 
incensed  that  Twyning  should  come  and  breathe  through 
his  nose  by  his  chair  when  he  wanted  to  write. 

But  Twyning  continued  to  stand  by  the  chair  and  to 
breathe  through  his  nose.  He  was  reading  over  Sabre's 
shoulder. 

The  few  pages  of  "  England  "  already  written  lay  in 
front  of  Sabre's  pad,  the  first  page  uppermost.  Twyn 
ing  read  and  interjected  a  snort  into  his  nasal  rhythm. 

"  Well,  that  book  's  not  written  for  me,  anyway,"  he 
remarked. 

Sabre  agreed  shortly.     "  It  is  n't.     But  why  not?  " 

Twyning  read  aloud  the  first  words.  "  '  This  England 
you  live  in  is  yours.'  Well,  I  take  my  oath  it  is  n't  mine. 
Not  a  blooming  inch  of  it.  D'  you  know  what 's  happen 
ing  to  me  ?  I  'm  being  turned  out  of  my  house.  The  lease 
is  out  and  the  whole  damned  house  and  everything  I  've 
put  on  to  it  goes  to  one  of  these  lordlings  —  this  Lord 
Tybar  —  just  because  one  of  his  ancestors,  who  'd  never 
even  dreamt  of  the  house,  pinched  the  land  it  stands  on 
from  the  public  common  and  started  to  pocket  ground 
rent.  Now  I  'm  being  pitched  into  the  street  to  let  Lord 
Tybar  have  a  house  that 's  no  more  his  than  the  man  in 
the  moon's.  D'  you  call  that  right?  " 


98  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Sabre,  but  with  a  tinge  of  impa 
tience.  "  I  call  it  rotten." 

Twyning  seemed  surprised.  "  Do  you,  though  ? 
Well,  how  about  that  book  ?  I  mean  to  say  —  " 

"  I  shall  say  so  in  the  book.     Or  as  good  as  say  so." 

Twyning  pondered.  "  Shall  you,  by  Jove?  Well,  but 
I  say,  that 's  liberalism,  radicalism,  you  know.  That 's 
not  the  sort  of  pap  for  kids." 

"  Well,  the  book  is  n't  going  to  be  pap  for  kids." 

Twyning  snorted  a  note  of  laughter  through  his  nose. 
"  Sorry,  old  man.  Don't  get  shirty.  But  I  say  though, 
seriously,  we  can't  put  out  that  sort  of  stuff,  you  know. 
Radicalism.  Not  with  our  connection.  I  mean  to 
say  —  " 

Sabre  gathered  up  the  papers  and  dropped  them  into 
a  drawer.  "  Look  here,  Twyning,  suppose  you  wait  till 
the  book  's  written  before  you  criticise  it.  How  about 
that  for  an  idea?  " 

"  All  right,  all  right,  old  man.  I  'm  not  criticising. 
What 's  it  going  to  be  called  ?  " 

"  England." 

Silence. 

Sabre,  appreciating,  with  the  author's  intense  suspicion 
for  his  child,  something  in  the  silence,  looked  up  at  Twyn 
ing.  "  Anything  wrong  about  that  ?  'England.'  You 
read  the  first  sentence  ?  " 

Twyning  said  slowly,  "  Yes,  I  know  I  did.  I  thought 
of  it  then." 

"Thought  of  what?" 

"  Well  — '  England  '—'  this  England.'  I  mean  to 
say —  What  about  Scotland?" 

"  Well,  what  about  Scotland?  " 

Twyning  seemed  really  concerned.  The  puckers  on 
his  face  had  visibly  deepened.  He  used  a  stubborn  tone. 
"  Well,  you  know  what  people  are.  You  know  how 


IF    WINTER    COMES  99 

damned  touchy  those  Scotchmen  are.     I  mean  to  say, 
if  we  put  out  a  book  like  that,  the  Scotch  —  " 

Sabre  smote  the  desk.  This  kind  of  thing  from  Twyn- 
ing  made  him  furious,  and  he  particularly  was  not  in  the 
mood  for  it  this  morning.  He  struck  his  hand  down  on 
the  desk :  "  Well,  damn  the  Scotch.  What 's  it  got  to 
do  with  the  Scotch  ?  This  book  is  n't  about  Scotland. 
It 's  about  England.  England.  I  '11  tell  you  another 
thing.  You  say  if  *  we  '  put  out  a  book  like  that.  It  is  n't 
'  we.'  Excuse  me  saying  so,  but  it  certainly  is  n't  you. 
It 's  I."  He  stopped,  and  then  laughed.  '*  Sorry, 
Twyning." 

Ill 

Twyning's  face  had  gone  very  dark.  His  jaw  had  set. 
"  Oh,  all  right."  He  turned  away,  but  immediately  re 
turned  again,  his  face  relaxed.  "  That 's  all  right.  Only 
my  chipping,  you  know.  I  say  though,"  and  he  laughed 
nervously.  "  That  '  not  we.'  You  Ve  said  it !  I  'd 
come  in  to  tell  you.  It 's  going  to  be  *  we.' '  He  ad 
vanced  the  paper  he  had  been  holding  in  his  hand,  his 
thumb  indicating  the  top  left-hand  corner.  "  What  do 
you  think  of  me  above  the  line,  my  boy?  " 

The  paper  was  a  sheet  of  the  firm's  notepaper.  In  the 
upper  left-hand  corner  was  printed  in  small  type,  "  The 
Rev.  Sebastian  Fortune."  Beneath  the  name  was  a  short 
line  and  beneath  the  line,  "  Mr.  Shearman  Twyning. 
Mr.  Mark  Sabre  "  : 

The  Rev.  Sebastian  Fortune. 


Mr.  Shearman  Twyning. 
Mr.  Mark  Sabre. 

Sabre  said  slowly,  "What  do  you  mean  —  you  '  above 
the  line'?" 


100  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Twyning  indicated  the  short  line  with  a  forefinger. 
"  That  line,  my  boy.  Jonah  's  going  to  take  me  into 
partnership.  Just  told  me." 

He  had  released  the  paper  into  Sabre's  hand.  Sabre 
handed  it  back  with  a  single  word,  "  Good." 

Twyning's  face  darkened  again  and  darkened  worse. 
He  crumpled  the  paper  violently  in  his  hand  and  spoke 
also  but  a  single  word,  "  Thanks !  "  He  turned  sharply 
on  his  heel  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  I  say,  Twyning !  "  Sabre  jumped  to  his  feet  and 
went  to  Twyning  with  outstretched  hand.  "  I  did  n't 
mean  to  take  it  like  that.  Don't  think  I  'm  not  —  I  con 
gratulate  you.  Jolly  good.  Splendid.  I  tell  you  what 
—  I  don't  mind  telling  you  —  it  was  a  bit  of  a  smack  in 
the  eye  for  me  for  a  moment.  You  know,  I  've  rather 
sweated  over  this  business,"  —  his  glance  indicated  the 
stacked  bookshelves,  the  firm's  publications,  his  publica 
tions.  .  .  .  "  See  what  I  mean?" 

A  certain  movement  in  his  throat  and  about  his  mouth 
indicated,  more  than  his  words,  what  he  meant.  A 
slight. 

Twyning  took  the  hand  and  gripped  it  with  a  firmness 
characteristic  of  his  handshake. 

"  Thanks,  old  man.  Thanks  awfully.  Of  course  I 
know  what  you  mean.  But  after  all,  look  at  the  thing, 
eh  ?  I  mean  to  say,  you  Ve  been  here  —  what  —  ten  or 
twelve  years.  Well,  I  Ve  been  over  twenty-five.  Nat 
ural,  eh  ?  And  you  're  doing  splendidly.  Every  one 
knows  that.  It 's  only  a  question  of  time.  Thanks 
awfully."  He  reached  for  Sabre's  hand  again  and  again 
gripped  it  hard. 

Sabre  went  back  and  sat  against  his  desk.  "  What 
rather  got  me,  you  know,  coming  all  of  a  sudden  like 
that,  was  that  Fortune  promised  me  partnership,  twice, 
quite  a  bit  ago." 


IF    WINTER    COMES  101 

Twyning,  who  had  been  speaking  with  ah  emotion  in 
consonance  with  the  grip  of  his  hand,  said  a  little 
blankly,  "  Did  he?  That  so?  " 

"  Yes,  twice.  And  this  looked  like,  when  you  told  me 
—  well,  like  dissatisfaction  since,  see?  Eh?  " 

Twyning  did  not  take  up  the  point.  "  I  say,  you  never 
told  me." 

"  I  'm  telling  you  now,"  Sabre  said.  And  he  laughed 
ruefully.  "It  comes  to  much  the  same  thing  —  as  it 
turns  out." 

"  Yes,  but  still.  .  .  I  wish  we  worked  in  a  bit  more 
together,  Sabre.  I  'm  always  ready  to,  you  know. 
Let's,  shall  we?" 

Sabre  made  no  reply.  Twyning  repeated  "  Let 's  " 
and  nodded  and  left  the  room.  Immediately  he  opened 
the  door  again  and  reappeared.  "  I  say,  you  won't  say 
anything  to  Jonah,  of  course?  " 

Sabre  smiled  grimly.     "  I  'm  going  to." 

Again  the  darkening.  "  Dash  it,  that 's  not  quite  play 
ing  the  game,  is  it?  " 

"  Rot,  Twyning.  Fortune  's  made  me  a  promise,  and 
I  'm  going  to  ask  if  he  has  any  reason  for  withdrawing  it, 
that 's  all.  It 's  nothing  to  do  with  your  show." 

"  You  're  bound  to  tell  him  I  Ve  told  you." 

"  Well,  man  alive,  I  'm  bound  to  know,  are  n't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  in  a  way.  Oh,  well,  all  right.  Remember 
about  working  in  more  together."  He  withdrew  and 
closed  the  door. 

Outside  the  door  he  clenched  his  hands.  He  thought, 
"  Smack  in  the  eye  for  you,  was  it  ?  You  '11  get  a  damn 
sight  worse  smack  in  the  eye  one  of  these  days.  Dirty 
dog!" 


102  IF   WINTER    COMES 

IV 

Immediately  the  door  was  closed  Sabre  went  what  he 
would  have  called  "  plug  in  "  to  Mr.  Fortune;  that  is  to 
say,  without  hesitation  and  without  reflection.  He  went 
in  by  the  communicating  door,  first  giving  a  single  tap 
but  without  waiting  for  a  reply  to  the  tap.  Mr.  Fortune, 
presenting  a  whale-like  flank,  was  at  his  table  going 
through  invoices  and  making  notes  in  a  small  black  book 
which  he  carried  always  in  a  tail  pocket  of  his  jacket. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  a  minute,  Mr.  Fortune?  " 

Mr.  Fortune  entered  a  note  in  the  small  black  book : 
"  Twenty-eight,  sixteen,  four."  He  placed  a  broad  elas 
tic  band  round  the  book  and  with  the  dexterity  of  prac 
tice  passed  the  book  round  his  bulk  and  into  the  tail 
pocket.  He  flicked  his  hands  away  and  extended  them 
for  an  instant,  palms  upward,  much  as  a  conjurer  might 
to  show  there  was  nothing  in  them.  "  Certainly  you 
may  speak  to  me,  Sabre."  He  performed  his  neat  re 
volving  trick.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  rather  wanted  to 
speak  to  you."  He  pointed  across  the  whale-like  front 
to  the  massive  leathern  armchair  beside  his  desk. 

The  seat  of  the  armchair  marked  in  a  vast  hollow  the 
cumulative  ponderosity  of  the  pillars  of  Church  and 
School  who  were  wont  to  sit  in  it.  Sabre  seated  himself 
on  the  arm.  "  Was  it  about  this  partnership  business  ?  " 

Mr.  Fortune  had  already  frowned  to  see  Sabre  upon 
the  arm  of  the  chair,  a  position  for  which  the  arm  was 
not  intended.  His  frown  deepened.  "  What  partner 
ship  business?  " 

"  Well,  you  recollect  promising  me  —  being  good 
enough  to  promise  me  —  twice  —  that  I  was  going  to 
come  into  partnership  —  " 

Mr.  Fortune  folded  his  hands  upon  the  whale-like 
front.  "  I  certainly  do  not  recollect  that,  Sabre."  He 


IF   WINTER   COMES  103 

raised  a  hand  responsive  to  a  gesture.  "  Allow  me.  I 
recollect  no  promise.  Either  twice  or  any  other  number 
of  times,  greater  or  fewer.  I  do  recollect  mentioning  to 
you  the  possibility  of  my  making  you  such  a  proposal  in 
my  good  time.  Is  that  what  you  refer  to  as  '  this  partner 
ship  business '  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  partly.  Well,  look  here,  sir,  it 's  been  a  pretty 
good  time,  has  n't  it?  I  mean  since  you  spoke  of  it." 

Mr.  Fortune  tugged  strongly  at  his  watch  by  its  gold 
chain  and  looked  at  the  watch  rather  as  though  he  expected 
to  see  the  extent  of  the  good  time  there  recorded.  He 
forced  it  back  with  both  hands  rather  as  though  it  had 
failed  of  this  duty  and  was  being  crammed  away  in  dis 
grace.  "I  am  expecting  Canon  Toomuch."  He  hit  the 
watch,  cowering  (as  one  might  suppose)  in  his  pocket. 
"  You  know,  my  dear  Sabre,  I  do  think  this  is  a  little 
odd.  A  little  unusual.  You  cannot  bounce  into  a  part 
nership,  Sabre.  I  know  your  manner.  I  know  your 
manner  well.  Oblige  me  by  not  fiddling  with  that  paper 
knife.  Thank  you.  And  I  make  allowances  for  your 
manner.  But  believe  me  a  partnership  is  not  to  be 
bounced  into.  You  give  me  the  impression  —  I  do  not 
say  you  mean  it,  I  say  you  give  it  —  of  suddenly  and 
without  due  cause  or  just  im  —  just  opportunity,  trying 
to  bounce  me  into  taking  you  into  partnership.  I  most 
emphatically  am  not  to  be  bounced,  Sabre.  I  never  have 
been  bounced  and  you  may  quite  safely  take  it  from  me 
that  I  never  propose  or  intend  to  be  bounced." 

Sabre  thought,  "  Well,  it  would  take  a  steam  crane  to 
bounce  you,  anyway."  He  said.  "  I  had  n't  the  faintest 
intention  of  doing  any  such  thing.  If  I  made  you  think 
so,  I  'm  sorry.  I  simply  wanted  to  ask  if  you  have 
changed  your  mind,  and  if  so  why.  I  mean,  whether 
I  have  given  you  any  cause  for  dissatisfaction  since  you 
prom  —  since  you  first  mentioned  it  to  me." 


104  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Mr.  Fortune's  whale-like  front  had  laboured  with 
some  agitation  during  his  repudiation  of  liability  to  being 
bounced.  It  now  resumed  its  normal  dignity.  "  You 
certainly  have  not,  Sabre.  No  cause  for  dissatisfaction. 
On  the  contrary.  You  know  quite  well  that  there  are 
certain  characteristics  of  yours  of  which,  constituted  as 
I  am,  I  do  not  approve.  I  really  must  beg  of  you  not 
to  fiddle  with  those  scissors.  Thank  you.  But  they  are, 
happily,  quite  apart  from  your  work.  I  do  not  permit 
them  to  influence  my  opinion  of  you  by  one  jot  or  tittle. 
You  may  entirely  reassure  yourself.  May  I  inquire  why 
you  should  have  supposed  I  had  changed  my  mind?  " 

"  Because  I  've  just  heard  that  you  've  told  Twyning 
you  're  going  to  take  him  into  partnership." 

The  whale-like  front  gave  a  sudden  leap  and  quiver 
precisely  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  a  cricket  ball.  Mr. 
Fortune's  voice  hardened  very  remarkably.  "  As  to 
that,  I  will  permit  myself  two  remarks.  In  the  first 
place,  I  consider  it  highly  reprehensible  of  Twyning  to 
have  communicated  this  to  you  —  " 

Sabre  broke  in.  "  Well,  he  did  n't.  I  'd  like  you  to 
be  quite  clear  on  that  point,  if  you  don't  mind.  Twyn 
ing  did  n't  tell  me.  It  came  out  quite  indirectly  in  the 
course  of  something  I  was  saying  to  him.  I  doubt  if 
he  knows  that  I  know  even.  I  inferred  it.  It  seems 
I  inferred  correctly." 

There  flashed  through  Mr.  Fortune's  mind  a  poignant 
regret  that,  this  being  the  case,  he  had  not  denied  it.  He 
said,  "  I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  it.  I  might  have 
known  Twyning  would  not  be  capable  of  such  a  breach 
of  discretion.  Resuming  what  I  had  to  say  —  and, 
Sabre,  I  shall  indeed  be  most  intensely  obliged  if  you  will 
refrain  from  fiddling  with  the  things  on  my  table  —  re 
suming  what  I  had  to  say,  I  will  observe  in  the  second 
and  last  place  that  I  entirely  deprecate,  I  will  go  further, 


IF    WINTER    COMES  105 

I  most  strongly  resent  any  questioning  by  any  one  mem 
ber  of  my  staff  based  on  any  intentions  of  mine  relative 
to  another  member  of  my  staff.  This  business  is  my 
business.  I  think  you  are  sometimes  a  little  prone  to 
forget  that.  If  it  seems  good  to  me  to  strengthen  your 
hand  in  your  department  that  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  Twyning.  And  if  it  seems  good  to  me  to  strengthen 
Twyning's  hand  in  Twyning's  department  that  has  noth 
ing  whatever  to  do  with  you." 

Sabre,  despite  his  private  feelings  in  the  matter,  char 
acteristically  followed  this  reasoning  completely,  and  said 
so.  "  Yes,  that 's  your  way  of  looking  at  it,  sir,  and  I 
don't  say  it  is  n't  perfectly  sound  —  from  your  point  of 
view  —  " 

Mr.  Fortune  inclined  his  head  solemnly  :  "  I  am  obliged 
to  you." 

"  —  Only  other  people  look  at  things  on  the  face  of 
them,  just  as  they  appear.  You  know  —  it 's  difficult  to 
express  it  —  I  've  put  my  heart  into  those  books."  He 
made  a  gesture  towards  his  room.  "  I  can't  quite  ex 
plain  it,  but  I  felt  that  the  slight,  or  what  looks  like  a 
slight,  is  on  them,  not  on  me."  He  put  his  hand  to  the 
back  of  his  head,  a  habit  characteristic  when  he  was  em 
barrassed  or  perplexed.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  quite  ex 
press  it,  but  it 's  the  books.  Not  myself.  I  'm  —  fond 
of  them.  They  're  not  just  paper  and  print  to  me.  I 
feel  that  they  feel  it.  You  won't  quite  understand,  I  'm 
afraid  —  " 

"  No,  I  confess  that  is  a  little  beyond  me,"  said  Mr. 
Fortune,  smoothing  his  front;  and  they  remained  look 
ing  at  one  another. 

A  sudden  and  unearthly  moan  sounded  through  the 
room.  Mr.  Fortune  spun  himself  with  relief  to  his  desk 
and  applied  his  lips  to  a  flexible  speaking  tube.  '  Yes  ?  " 
He  dodged  the  tube  to  his  ear,  then  to  his  lips  again. 


106  IF   WINTER    COMES 

"  Beg  Canon  Toomuch  to  step  up  to  my  room."  He 
laid  down  the  tube. 

Sabre  roused  himself  and  stood  up  abruptly.  "  Ah, 
well!  All  right,  sir."  He  moved  towards  his  door. 

"  Sabre,"  inquired  Mr.  Fortune,  "  you  get  on  well 
with  Twyning,  I  trust?  " 

"  Get  on  ?  Oh  yes.  We  don't  have  much  to  do  with 
each  other." 

"  Do  you  dislike  Twyning?  " 

"  I  don't  dislike  him.     I  'm  indifferent  to  him." 

"  I  regret  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr.  Fortune. 

From  the  door  Sabre  put  a  question  in  his  turn: 
"  When  are  you  going  to  make  this  change  with  Twyn 
ing?" 

"  Not  to-day." 

"  Am  I  still  to  remember  that  you  held  out  partner 
ship  to  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  you  may." 

"  When  is  it  likely  to  be?" 

"  Not  today." 

Maddening  expression! 

Sabre,  in  his  room,  went  towards  his  chair.  He  was 
about  to  drop  into  it  when  he  recollected  something.  He 
went  out  into  the  corridor  and  along  the  corridor,  past 
Mr.  Fortune's  door  (Canon  Toomuch  coming  heavily 
up  the  stairs)  to  Twyning's  room.  He  put  in  his  head. 
"  Oh,  I  say,  Twyning,  if  Fortune  should  ever  ask  you  if 
you  told  me  about  that  business,  you  can  tell  him  you 
did  n't." 

"Oh  —  oh,  right-o,"  said  Twyning;  and  to  himself 
when  the  door  closed,  "  Funked  speaking  to  him !  " 


IF   WINTER    COMES  107 


Arrived  again  in  his  room,  Sabre  dropped  into  his  chair. 
In  his  eyes  was  the  look  that  had  been  in  them  when  he 
had  tried  to  explain  to  Mr.  Fortune  about  the  books, 
what  Mr.  Fortune  had  confessed  he  found  a  little  be 
yond  him.  He  thought:  "The  books.  .  .  Of  course 
Fortune  has  n't  imagined  them.  .  .  .  seen  them  grow 
....  helped  them  to  grow.  .  .  .  But  it  hurts.  Like 
hell  it  hurts.  .  .  .  And  I  can't  explain  to  him  how  I  feel 
about  them.  ...  I  can't  explain  to  any  one." 

His  thoughts  moved  on :  "I  've  been  twelve  years  with 
him.  Twelve  years  we  've  been  daily  together,  and 
when  I  said  that  about  the  books  I  sat  there  and  he  sat 
there  —  and  just  looked.  Stared  at  each  other  like 
masks.  Masks !  Nothing  but  a  mask  to  be  seen  for 
either  of  us.  I  sit  behind  my  mask  and  he  sits  behind 
his  and  that 's  all  we  see.  Twelve  mortal  years !  And 
there  're  thousands  of  people  in  thousands  of  offices.  .  .  . 
thousands  of  homes.  .  .  .  just  the  same.  All  behind 
masks.  Mysterious  business.  Extraordinary.  How 
do  we  keep  behind  ?  Why  do  we  keep  behind  ?  We  're 
all  going  through  the  same  life.  Come  the  same  way. 
Go  the  same  way.  You  look  at  insects,  ants,  scurrying 
about,  and  not  two  of  them  seem  to  have  a  thing  in  com 
mon,  not  two  of  them  seem  to  know  one  another;  and 
you  think  it 's  odd,  you  think  it 's  because  they  don't  know 
they  're  all  in  the  same  boat.  But  we  're  just  the  same. 
They  might  think  it  of  us.  And  we  do  know.  And  yet 
you  get  two  lives  and  put  them  together  twelve  years  in 
an  office.  ...  in  a  house.  .  .  .  Mabel  and  I.  ... 
practically  we  just  sit  and  look  at  each  other.  Her  mask. 
My  mask.  .  .  ." 

He  thought :  "  One  knows  what  it  is,  what  it  looks 
like,  with  ants.  They  're  all  plugging  about  like  mad 


108  IF    WINTER    COMES 

like  that,  not  knowing  one  another,  nor  caring,  because 
they  all  seem  to  be  looking  for  something.  I  won 
der.  ...  I  wonder  —  are  we  ?  Is  that  the  trouble  ? 
All  looking  for  something.  .  .  .  You  can  see  it  in 
half  the  faces  you  see.  Some  wanting,  and  know 
ing  they  are  wanting  something.  Others  wanting  some 
thing  but  just  putting  up  with  it,  just  content  to  be  dis 
contented.  You  can  see  it.  Yes,  you  can.  Looking 
for  what?  Love?  But  lots  have  love.  Happiness? 
But  are  n't  lots  happy?  But  are  they?  " 

He  knitted  his  brows  :  "  It  goes  deeper  than  that.  It 's 
some  universal  thing  that 's  wanting.  Is  it  some 
thing  that  religion  ought  to  give,  but  does  n't  ?  Light  ? 
Some  new  light  to  give  every  one  certainty  in  religion, 
in  belief.  Light?" 

His  thoughts  went  to  Mabel.  "  Those  houses  in  King's 
Close  are  going  to  be  eighty  pounds  a  year,  and  what  do 
you  think,  Mrs.  Toller  is  going  to  take  one."  And  he 
had  not  answered  her  but  had  rustled  the  newspaper  and 
had  intended  her  to  know  why  he  had  rustled  the  paper : 
to  show  he  could  n't  stick  it !  Unkind.  His  heart  smote 
him  for  Mabel.  Such  a  pathetically  simple  thing  for 
Mabel  to  find  enjoyment  in!  Why,  he  might  just  as 
reasonably  rustle  the  newspaper  at  a  baby  because  it  had 
enjoyment  in  a  rattle.  A  rattle  would  not  amuse  him, 
and  Mrs.  Toller  taking  a  house  beyond  her  means  did  not 
amuse  him ;  but  why  on  earth  should  he  —  ? 

He  put  the  thing  to  himself  in  his  reasoning  way,  his 
brow  wrinkled  up :  She  was  his  wife.  She  had  left  her 
home  for  his  home.  She  had  a  right  to  his  interest  in 
her  ideas.  He  had  a  duty  towards  her  ideas.  Unkind. 
Rotten. 

Upon  a  sudden  impulse  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
Only  just  after  twelve.  He  could  get  back  in  time  for 
lunch.  Lonely  for  her,  day  after  day,  and  left  as  he 


IF    WINTER    COMES  109 

had  left  her  that  morning.  They  could  have  a  jolly 
afternoon  together.  He  could  make  it  a  jolly  afternoon. 
Nona  kept  coming  into  his  thoughts  —  and  more  so  after 
this  Twyning  business.  He  would  have  Mabel  in  his 
thoughts. 

He  went  in  and  told  Mr.  Fortune  he  rather  thought  of 
taking  the  afternoon  off  if  he  was  not  wanted.  He 
mounted  his  bicycle  and  rode  purposefully  back  to  Mabel, 


CHAPTER    III 


THE  free-wheel  run  down  into  Perry  Green  landed 
him  a  little  short  of  his  gate,  —  not  bad !  Pirrip,  the 
postman,  whom  he  had  passed  in  the  bicycle's  penultimate 
struggles,  overtook  him  in  its  death  throes  and  watched 
with  interest  the  miracles  of  balancing  with  which,  de 
spite  his  preoccupation  of  mind,  habit  made  him  prolong 
them  to  the  uttermost  inch. 

He  dismounted.     "  Anything  for  me,  Pirrip?  " 

11  One  for  you,  Mr.  Sabre." 

Sabre  took  the  letter  and  glanced  at  the  handwriting. 

It  was  from  Nona. 

Her  small,  neat,  masculine  script  had  once  been  as 
familiar  to  him  as  his  own.  It  was  curiously  like  his 
own.  She  had  the  same  trick  of  not  linking  all  the  letters 
in  a  word.  Her  longer  words,  like  his  own,  looked  as  if 
they  were  two  or  three  short  words  close  together.  To 
this  day,  when  he  did  not  get  a  letter  from  her  once  in  a 
year  —  or  in  five  years  —  his  address  on  an  envelope  in. 
her  handwriting  was  a  thing  he  could  bring,  and  some 
times  did  bring  with  perfect  clearness  before  his  mental 
vision. 

He  glanced  at  it,  regarded  it  for  slightly  longer  than  a 
glance,  and  with  a  little  pucker  of  brows  and  lips,  then 
made  the  action  of  putting  it,  unopened,  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  rested  the  bicycle  against  his  hip  and  opened  her 
letter. 

"  Northrepps.    Tuesday."    She  never  dated  her  letters. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  111 

He  used  to  be  always  telling  her  about  that.     Tuesday 
was  yesterday.    • 

Dear  Marko  —  We  're  back.  We  've  been  from  China 
to  Peru  —  almost.  Come  up  one  day  and  be  bored  about 
it.  How  are  you? 

Nona. 

He  thought :  "  Funny  she  did  n't  mention  she  'd  writ 
ten  just  now.  Perhaps  she  thought  it  was  funny  I  did  n't 
say  I  'd  had  it.  I  must  tell  her." 

He  returned  her  letter  to  its  envelope  and  put  the  envel 
ope  in  his  pocket.  Then  wheeled  his  bicycle  into  his  gate. 
He  smiled.  "  Mabel  will  be  surprised  at  me  back  like  this." 

Mabel  was  descending  the  stairs  as  he  entered  the  hall. 
In  the  white  dress  she  wore  she  made  a  pleasant  picture 
against  the  broad,  shallow  stairway  and  the  dark  panel 
ling.  But  she  did  not  appear  particularly  pleased  to  see 
him.  But  he  thought,  "  Why  should  she  be?  That's 
just  it.  That 's  why  I  've  come  back." 

"Hullo?"  she  greeted  him.  "Have  you  forgotten 
something?  " 

He  smiled  invitingly.  "  No,  I  Ve  just  come  back.  I 
suddenly  thought  we  'd  have  a  holiday." 

She  showed  puzzlement.  "  A  holiday  ?  What,  the 
office?  All  of  you?" 

She  had  paused  three  steps  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
her  right  hand  on  the  banisters. 

His  wife!  .  .  . 

He  slid  his  hand  up  the  rail  and  rested  it  on  hers. 
"  Good  lord,  no.  Not  the  office.  No,  I  suddenly  thought 
we  'd  have  a  holiday.  You  and  I." 

He  half  hoped  she  would  respond  to  the  touch  of  his 
hand  by  turning  the  palm  of  her  own  to  it.  But  he 
thought,  "Why  should  she?"  and  she  did  not.  She 
said,  "  But  how  extraordinary !  Whatever  for  ?  " 


112  IF    WINTER  COMES 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"But  what  did  you  say  at  the  office?  What  reason 
did  you  give  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  give  any.  I  just  said  I  thought  I  would  n't 
be  back." 

"But  whatever  will  Mr.  Fortune  think?" 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  what  he  thinks?  He  won't 
think  anything  about  it." 

"  But  he  '11  think  it 's  funny." 

He  thought,  "  Dash  these  buts !  "  This  was  what  he 
called  "  niggling."  It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  say, 
"Why  niggle  about  the  thing?"  but  he  recollected  his 
purpose;  that  was  him  all  over  and  that  was  just  it! 
He  said  brightly,  "  Let  him.  Do  him  good.  The  idea 
suddenly  came  to  me  as  a  bit  of  a  lark  to  have  an  un 
expected  holiday  with  you,  and  I  just  cleared  off  and 
came !  " 

She  had  descended  and  he  moved  along  the  hall  with 
her  towards  the  morning  room. 

"  It 's  rather  extraordinary,"  she  said. 

She  certainly  was  not  enthusiastic  over  it.  She  asked, 
"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

He  wished  he  had  thought  of  some  plan  as  he  came 
along.  "What  time's  lunch?  Half-past  one?  What 
about  getting  your  bike  and  going  for  a  bit  of  a  run 
first?" 

She  was  at  a  drawer  of  her  table  where  she  kept,  with 
beautiful  neatness,  implements  for  various  household 
duties.  A  pair  of  long  scissors  came  out.  "  I  can't  pos 
sibly.  I  Ve  things  to  do.  Besides  some  one  's  coming 
to  lunch." 

He  began  to  feel  he  had  been  a  fool.  The  feeling  net 
tled  him  and  he  thought,  "  Why  '  some  one  '  ?  Dash  it, 
I  might  be  a  stranger  in  the  house.  Why  does  n't  she  say 
who?"  And  then  he  thought,  "Why  should  she? 


IF    WINTER    COMES  113 

This  is  just  it.  I  'd  have  heard  all  about  it  at  breakfast 
if  I  'd  been  decently  communicative." 

He  said,  "Good.     Who?" 

She  took  a  shallow  basket  from  the  shelf.  He  knew 
this  and  the  long  scissors  for  her  flower-cutting  imple 
ments.  "  Mr.  Bagshaw." 

And  before  he  could  stop  himself  he  had  groaned, 
"Oh,  lord!" 

She  "  flew  up "  and  he  rushed  in  tumultuously  to 
make  amends  for  his  blunder  and  prevent  her  flying  up. 

"  Mark,  I  do  wish  —  " 

"  I  'm  sorry.  I  'm  sorry.  I  really  am  most  awfully 
sorry,  Mabel.  '  Oh,  lord '  's  not  really  profanity.  You 
know  it 's  not.  It 's  just  my  way  —  " 

"  I  know  that." 

But  he  persevered.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it 's  clear 
connection  of  thought  in  this  case.  Bagshaw  's  a  clergy 
man,  and  my  mind  flew  instantly  to  celestial  things." 

She  did  not  respond  to  this.  "  In  any  case,  I  really 
cannot  see  why  you  should  object  to  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw." 

"  I  don't.     I  don't  in  the  least." 

"  I  've  heard  you  say  —  often  —  that  he  's  far  and  away 
the  best  preacher  you  Ve  ever  heard." 

"He  is.    Absolutely." 

"Well,  then?" 

"  It 's  just  his  coming  to  lunch.  He  's  such  a  terrific 
talker  and  you  know  I  can't  stick  talkers." 

"  Yes,  that 's  just  why  I  invite  them  when  you  're  not 
here." 

He  laughed  and  came  across  the  room  towards  her 
impulsively.  He  was  going  to  carry  this  through. 
"  You  've  got  me  there.  Properly."  He  took  the  basket 
from  her  hand.  "  Come  on,  we  '11  cut  the  flowers.  I  '11 
be  absolutely  chatty  with  old  Bagshaw." 

She  smiled  and  her  smile  encouraged  him  tremendously. 


114  IF    WINTER    COMES 

This  was  the  way  to  do  it !  They  went  through  the  glass 
doors  into  the  garden  and  he  continued,  "  Really  chatty. 
I  'm  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
that 's  why  I  came  back.  I  got  out  of  bed  the  wrong 
side  this  morning,  did  n't  I  ?  " 

He  felt  as  he  always  remembered  once  feeling  as  a 
boy  when,  after  going  to  bed,  he  had  come  downstairs 
in  his  nightshirt  and  said  to  his  father,  "  I  say,  father, 
I  did  n't  tell  the  truth  this  morning.  I  had  been  smoking." 
He  had  never  forgotten  the  enormous  relief  of  that  con 
fession,  nor  the  bliss  of  his  father's,  "  That 's  all  right, 
old  man.  That 's  fine.  Don't  cry,  old  chap."  And  he 
felt  precisely  that  same  enormous  relief  now. 

She  said,  "  Was  that  the  reason?  How  awfully  funny 
of  you!"  and  she  gave  one  of  her  sudden  bursts  of 
laughter. 

He  had  a  swift  feeling  that  this  was  not  quite  the 
same  as  the  reception  of  his  confession  by  his  father  in 
that  long-ago;  but  he  thought  immediately,  "  The  thing  's 
quite  different."  Anyway,  he  had  confessed.  She  knew 
why  he  had  come  back  so  suddenly.  He  felt  immensely 
happy.  And  when  she  said,  "  I  think  we  '11  have  some 
of  the  roses,"  he  gaily  replied,  "  Yes,  rather.  These 
roses!" 

Fine !    How  easy  to  be  on  jolly  terms ! 

And  immediately  it  proved  not  so  easy.  He  had  got 
over  the  rocks  of  "  niggling";  he  found  himself  in  the 
shoals  of  exasperation. 

II 

She  cut  the  first  rose  and  held  it  to  her  lips,  smelling 
it.  "  Lovely.  Who  was  your  letter  from,  Mark?" 

He  thought,  "How  on  earth  did  she  know?"  He 
had  forgotten  it  himself.  "How  ever  did  you  know? 
From  Lady  Tybar.  They  're  back." 


IF    WINTER    COMES  115 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  window  with  the  postman.  Lady 
Tybar!  Whatever  was  she  writing  to  you  about?" 

He  somehow  did  not  like  this.  Why  "whatever"? 
And  being  watched  was  rather  beastly;  he  remembered 
he  had  fiddled  about  with  the  letter,  —  half  put  it  in  his 
pocket  and  then  taken  it  out  again.  And  why  not? 
What  did  it  matter?  But  he  had  a  prevision  that  it  was 
going  to  matter.  Mabel  did  not  particularly  like  Nona. 
He  said,  "  Just  to  say  they  're  back.  She  wants  us  to  go 
up  there." 

"  An  invitation  ?  Whyever  did  n't  she  write  to  me  ?  " 
"  Whyever  "  again !  —  "  May  I  see  it  ?  " 

He  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  her. 
"  It 's  not  exactly  an  invitation  —  not  formal." 

She  did  what  he  called  "  flicked  "  the  letter  out  of  its 
envelope.  He  watched  her  reading  it  and  in  his  mind  he 
could  see  as  perfectly  as  she  with  her  eyes,  the  odd,  neat 
script;  in  his  mind  he  read  it  with  her,  word  by  word. 

Dear  Marko  —  We  're  back.  We  Ve  been  from  China 
to  Peru  —  almost.  Come  up  one  day  and  be  bored  about 
it.  How  are  you? 

Nona. 

His  thought  was,  "  Damn  the  letter! " 

Mabel  handed  it  back,  without  returning  it  to  its 
envelope.  She  said,  ''  No,  it 's  not  formal/' 

She  snipped  three  roses  with  astonishing  swiftness, — 
snip,  snip,  snip! 

Sabre  sought  about  in  his  mind  for  something  to  say. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  mind  to  say.  He  had  an  absurd 
vision  of  his  two  hands  feeling  about  in  the  polished  in 
terior  of  a  skull,  as  one  might  fumble  for  something  in 
a  large  jar. 

At  the  end  of  an  enormous  cavity  of  time  he  found 
some  slight  remark  about  blight  on  the  rose  trees  —  the 
absence  of  it  this  year  —  and  ventured  it.  He  had  again 


116  IF   WINTER    COMES 

an  absurd  vision  of  dropping  it  into  an  enormous  cavern, 
as  a  pea  into  an  immense  bowl,  and  it  seemed  to  tinkle 
feebly  and  forlornly,  as  a  pea  would.  "  No  blight  this 
year,  eh?" 

"  No ;  is  there ?  "  agreed  Mabel,  —  snip! 

Nevertheless  conversation  arose  from  the  forlorn  pea 
and  was  maintained.  They  moved  about  the  garden  from 
flower  bed  to  flower  bed.  In  half  an  hour  the  shallow 
basket  was  beautified  with  fragrant  blooms  and  Mabel 
thought  she  had  enough. 

"  Well,  that 's  that,"  said  Sabre  as  they  reentered  the 
morning  room. 

Ill 

Low  Jinks,  her  matchless  training  at  the  level  of  mys 
teriously  performed  duties  pat  to  the  moment  and  with 
out  command,  appeared  with  a  tray  of  vases.  Each  vase 
was  filled  to  precisely  half  its  capacity  with  water.  There 
were  also  a  folded  newspaper,  a  pair  of  small  gilt  scissors 
and  a  saucer.  Low  Jinks  spread  the  newspaper  at  one 
end  of  the  table,  arranged  the  vases  in  a  semicircle  upon 
it,  and  placed  the  gilt  scissors  precisely  in  alignment  with 
the  right-hand  vase  of  the  semicircle,  and  the  saucer  (for 
the  stalk  ends)  precisely  in  alignment  with  the  left-hand 
vase.  She  then  withdrew,  closing  the  door  with  ex 
quisite  softness.  Sabre  had  never  seen  this  rite  before. 
The  perfection  of  its  performance  was  impressive.  He 
thought,  "  Mabel  is  marvellous."  He  said,  "  Shall  I  take 
them  out  of  the  basket?  " 

"  No,  leave  them.    I  take  them  up  just  as  I  want  them." 

She  took  up  a  creamy  rose  and  snipped  off  a  fragment 
of  stalk  over  the  saucer.  "  Why  does  she  call  you 
'Marko'?" 

He  was  utterly  taken  aback.  If  the  question  had  come 
from  any  one  but  Mabel,  he  would  have  quite  failed  to 


IF    WINTER    COMES  117 

connect  it  with  the  letter.  But  there  had  distinctly  been 
an  "  incident  "  over  the  letter,  though  so  far  closed,  as 
he  had  imagined,  that  he  was  completely  surprised. 

He  said  "Who?     Nona?" 

"  Yes,  Nona,  if  you  like.     Lady  Tybar." 

"  Why,  she  always  has.     You  know  that." 

Mabel  put  the  rose  into  a  specimen  vase  with  immense 
care  and  touched  a  speck  off  its  petals  with  her  ringers. 
"  I  really  did  n't" 

"  Mabel,  you  know  you  do.  You  must  have  heard 
her." 

"  Well,  I  may  have.  But  long  ago.  I  certainly  did  n't 
know  she  used  it  in  letters." 

He  felt  he  was  growing  angry. 

"  What  on  earth  's  the  difference?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  there  's  a  great  deal  of  difference.  I 
didn't  know  she  wrote  you  letters." 

He  was  angry.  "  Damn  it,  she  does  n't  write  me  let 
ters." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You  seem  to  get  them, 
anyway." 

Maddening ! 

And  then  he  thought,  "  I  'm  not  going  to  let  it  be  mad 
dening.  This  is  just  what  happens."  He  said,  "  Well, 
this  is  silly.  I  've  known  her  —  we  've  known  one  an 
other  —  for  years,  since  we  were  children,  pretty  well. 
She  's  called  me  by  my  Christian  name  since  I  can  re 
member.  You  must  have  heard  her.  We  don't  see  much 
of  her  —  perhaps  you  have  n't.  I  thought  you:  had. 
Anyway,  dash  the  thing.  What  does  it  matter?" 

"  It  does  n't  matter  "  —  she  launched  a  flower  into  a 
vase — "a  bit.  I  only  think  it's  funny,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  it 's  just  her  way." 

Mabel  gave  a  little  sniff.  He  thought  it  was  over. 
But  it  was  n't  over.  "If  you  ask  me,  I  call  it  a  funny 


118  IF    WINTER    COMES 

letter.  You  say  your  Christian  name,  but  it  is  n't  your 
Christian  name  —  Marko!  And  then  saying,  '  How  are 
you?'  like  that  — 

"  Like  what?    She  just  said  it,  did  n't  she?  " 

"  Yes  I  know.  And  then  '  Nona.'  Don't  you  call  that 
funny?" 

"  Well,  I  always  used  to  call  her  '  Nona.'  She  'd  have 
thought  it  funny,  as  you  call  it,  to  put  anything  else.  I 
teJl  you  it 's  just  her  way." 

"  Well,  I  think  it 's  a  very  funny  way  and  I  think  any 
body  else  would  think  so.  I  don't  like  her.  I  never  did 
like  her." 

There  seemed  no  more  to  say. 

IV 

He  walked  up  to  his  room.  He  closed  the  door  behind 
him  and  sat  on  a  straight-backed  chair,  his  legs  out- 
thrust.  Failure  ?  He  had  come  back  home  thus  suddenly 
with  immensely  good  intentions.  Failure?  On  the 
whole,  no.  There  was  a  great  deal  more  he  could  have 
said  downstairs,  and  a  great  deal  more  he  had  felt  un 
commonly  inclined  to  say.  But  he  had  left  the  morning 
room  without  saying  it,  and  that  was  good;  that  re 
deemed  his  sudden  return  from1  absolute  failure. 

Why  had  he  returned?  He  "worked  back"  through 
the  morning  on  the  Fargus  principle.  Not  because  of  his 
thoughts  after  the  Twyning  business;  not  because  of  the 
disturbance  of  the  Twyning  business.  No.  He  had  re 
turned  because  he  had  seen  Nona.  Thoughts  —  feelings 
—  had  been  stirred  within  him  by  meeting  her.  And  it 
had  suddenly  been  rather  hateful  to  have  those  thoughts 
and  to  feel  that  —  that  Mabel  had  no  place  in  them. 

Well,  why  had  he  come  up  here?  What  was  he  doing 
up  here?  Well,  it  hadn't  been  altogether  successful. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  119 

Mabel  had  n't  been  particularly  excited  to  see  him.  No, 
but  that  did  n't  count.  Why  should  she  be  ?  He  had 
gone  off  after  breakfast,  glum  as  a  bear.  Well,  then  there 
was  that  niggling  business  over  why  he  had  returned. 
Always  like  that.  Never  plump  out  over  a  thing  he  put 
up.  Niggling.  And  then  this  infernal  business  about 
the  letter.  That  word  "  funny."  She  must  have  used  it 
a  hundred  times.  Still  .  .  .  The  niggling  had  been  car 
ried  off,  they  had  gone  into  the  garden  together;  and 
this  infernal  letter  business  —  at  least  he  had  come  away 
without  boiling  over  about  it.  Much  better  to  have  come 
away  as  he  did  .  .  .  Still.  .  .  . 


A  gong  boomed  enormously  through  the  house.  It  had 
been  one  of  her  father's  wedding  presents  to  Mabel  and 
it  always  reminded  Sabre  of  the  Dean's,  her  father's 
voice.  The  Dean's  voice  boomed,  swelling  into  a  loud 
boom  when  he  was  in  mid-speech  and  reverberating  into 
a  distant  boom  as  his  periods  terminated.  This  was  the 
warning  gong  for  lunch.  In  ten  minutes,  in  this  per 
fectly  ordered  house,  a  different  gong,  a  set  of  chimes, 
would  announce  that  lunch  was  ready.  The  reverbera 
tions  had  scarcely  ceased  when  Low  Jinks,  although  she 
had  caused  the  reverberations,  appeared  in  his  room  with 
a  brass  can  of  hot  water. 

"  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  has  not  arrived  yet,  sir,"  said 
Low  Jinks ;  "  but  the  mistress  thought  we  would  n't  wait 
any  longer." 

,  She  displaced  the  ewer  from  the  basin  and  substituted 
the  brass  can.  She  covered  the  can  with  a  white  towel, 
uncovered  the  soap  dish,  and  disappeared,  closing  the 
door  as  softly  as  if  it  and  the  doorpost  were  padded  with 
velvet.  Perfect  establishment! 


120  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Sabre  washed  his  hands  and  went  down.  Mabel  was 
in  the  morning  room,  seated  at  the  centre  table  where  the 
flowers  had  been  and  where  now  was  her  embroidery 
basket.  She  was  embroidering,  an  art  which,  in  common 
with  all  the  domestic  arts,  she  performed  to  perfection. 

"Bagshaw's  late?"  said  Sabre. 

Mabel  glanced  at  the  clock.  Her  gesture  above  her 
busy  needle  was  pretty. 

"  Well,  he  was  n't  absolutely  sure  about  coming.  I 
thought  we  would  n't  wait.  Ah,  there  he  is." 

Sabre  thought,  "  Good.  That  business  is  over.  Noth 
ing  in  it.  Only  Mabel's  way." 

Sounds  in  the  hall.  "  In  the  morning  room,"  came 
Low  Jinks 's  voice.  "  Lunch  .  .  .  wash  your  hands,  sir  ?  " 

There  was  only  one  person  in  all  England  who,  arriv 
ing  at  Crawshaws,  would  not  have  been  gently  but  firmly 
enfolded  by  the  machine-like  order  of  its  perfect  admin 
istration  and  been  led  in  and  introduced  with  rites 
proper  to  the  occasion.  But  that  one  person  was  the 
Reverend  Cyril  Boom  Bagshaw,  and  he  now  strolled 
across  the  threshold  and  into  the  room. 

VI 

He  strolled  in.  He  wore  a  well-made  suit  of  dark 
grey  flannel,  brown  brogue  shoes  and  a  soft  collar  with 
a  black  tie  tied  in  a  sailor's  knot.  He  disliked  clerical 
dress  and  he  rarely  wore  it.  He  was  dark.  His  good- 
looking  face  bore  habitually  a  rather  sulky  expression  as 
though  he  were  a  little  bored  or  dissatisfied.  You  would 
never  have  thought,  to  look  at  him,  that  he  was  a  clergy 
man,  or,  as  he  would  have  said,  a  priest,  and  in  not  think 
ing  that  you  would  have  paid  him  the  compliment  that 
pleased  him  most.  This  was  not  because  Mr.  Boom  Bag 
shaw  lacked  earnestness  in  his  calling,  for  he  was  enor- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  121 

mously  in  earnest,  but  because  he  disliked  and  despised 
the  conventional  habits  and  manners  and  appearance  of 
the  clergy  and,  in  any  case,  intensely  disliked  being  one 
of  a  class.  For  the  same  reasons  he  wore  a  monocle; 
not  because  the  vision  of  his  right  eye  was  defective  but 
because  no  clergyman  wears  a  monocle.  It  is  not  done 
by  the  priesthood  and  that  is  why  the  Reverend  Cyril 
Boom  Bagshaw  did  it. 

He  strolled  negligently  into  the  morning  room,  his 
hands  in  his  trouser  pockets,  the  skirt  of  his  jacket  rum 
pled  on  his  wrists.  He  gave  the  impression  of  having 
been  strolling  about  the  house  all  day  and  of  now  stroll 
ing  in  here  for  want  of  a  better  room  to  stroll  into.  He 
nodded  negligently  to  Sabre,  "  Hullo,  Sabre."  He  smiled 
negligently  at  Mabel  and  seated  himself  negligently  on 
the  edge  of  the  table,  still  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
He  swung  one  leg  negligently  and  negligently  remarked, 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Sabre.  Embroidery?" 

Sabre  had  the  immediate  and  convinced  feeling  that 
the  negligent  and  reverend  gentleman  was  not  in  his 
house  but  that  he  was  permitted  to  be  in  the  house  of  the 
negligent  and  reverend  gentleman.  And  this  was  the 
feeling  that  the  negligent  and  reverend  gentleman  in 
variably  gave  to  his  hosts,  whoever  they  might  be;  like 
wise  to  his  congregations.  Indeed  it  was  said  by  a  pro 
fane  person  (who  fortunately  does  not  enter  this  history) 
that  the  Deity  entered  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw's  church  on 
the  same  terms,  and  accepted  them. 

As  he  sat  negligently  swinging  his  leg  he  frequently 
strained  his  chin  upwards  and  outwards,  rather  as  if  hi? 
collar  were  tight  (but  it  was  neatly  loose),  or  as  if  he 
were  performing  an  exercise  for  stretching  the  muscles 
of  his  neck.  This  was  a  habit  of  his. 


122  IF    WINTER    COMES 

VII 

A  silver  entree  dish  was  placed  before  Mabel,  another 
before  Sabre.  Low  Jinks  removed  her  mistress's  cover 
and  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  pushed  aside  a  flower  vase  to 
obtain  a  view. 

"  I  don't  eat  salmon,"  he  remarked.  The  vase  was 
now  between  himself  and  Sabre.  He  again  moved  it, 
"  Or  cutlets." 

Mabel  exclairried,  "  Oh,  dear !  Now  I  got  this  salmon 
in  specially  from  Tidborough." 

"  I  '11  have  some  of  that  ham,"  said  Mr.  Boom  Bag 
shaw;  and  he  arose  sulkily  and  strolled  to  the  sideboard 
where  he  rather  sulkily  cut  from  a  ham  in  thick  wedges. 
The  house  was  clearly  his  house. 

He  addressed  himself  to  Mabel.  "  Now  in  a  very  few 
weeks  you  '11  no  longer  have  to  get  things  from  Tid 
borough,  Mrs.  Sabre  —  salmon  or  anything  else.  The 
shops  in  Market  Square  are  going  the  minute  they  're 
complete.  I  got  a  couple  of  fishmongers  only  yesterday." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  had  shot  a  brace  of  fishmongers 
and  slung  them  over  his  shoulder  and  flung  them  into 
Market  Square.  Market  Square  was  that  portion  of  the 
Garden  Home  designed  for  the  shopping  centre. 

"  Two !  "  said  Mabel. 

"  Two.  I  encourage  competition.  No  one  is  going 
to  sleep  in  the  Garden  Home." 

"What  will  all  the  bedrooms  be  used  for  then?" 
Sabre  inquired. 

Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw,  who  was  eating  his  ham  with  a 
fork  only,  holding  it  at  its  extremity  in  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  and  occasionally  flipping  a  piece  of  ham  into 
his  mouth  and  swallowing  it  without  visible  mastication, 
flipped  in  another  morsel  and  with  his  right  hand  moved 
three  more  vases  which  stood  between  himself  and  Sabre. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  123 

He  moved  each  deliberately  and  set  it  down  with  a 
slight  thump,  rather  as  if  it  were  a  chessman. 

He  directed  the  fork  at  Sabre  and  after  an  impressive 
moment  spoke: 

"  You  know,  Sabre,  I  don't  think  you  're  quite  alive 
to  what  it  is  that  is  growing  up  about  you.  Flippancy 
is  out  of  place.  I  abominate  flippancy."  ("  Well,  dash  it, 
it 's  my  house!  "  Sabre  thought.)  "  This  Garden  Home 
is  not  a  speculation.  It's  not  a  fad.  It  's  not  a  joke. 
What  is  it  ?  You  're  thinking  it 's  a  damned  nuisance. 
You  're  right.  It  is  a  damned  nuisance  —  " 

Sabre  began,  "Well  —  " 

"  Now,  listen,  Sabre.  It  is  a  damned  nuisance ;  and  I 
put  it  to  you  that,  when  a  toad  is  discovered  embedded 
in  a  solid  mass  of  coal  or  stone,  that  coal  or  stone,  when 
it  was  slowly  forming  about  that  toad,  was  a  damned 
nuisance  to  the  toad." 

Sabre  asked,  "  Well,  am  I  going  to  be  discovered  em 
bedded— " 

"  Now,  listen,  Sabre.  Another  man  in  my  place  would 
say  he  did  not  intend  to  be  personal.  I  do  intend  to  be 
personal.  I  always  am  personal.  I  say  that  this  Garden 
Home  is  springing  up  about  you  and  that  you  are  not 
realising  what  is  happening.  This  Garden  Home  is  go 
ing  to  enshrine  life  as  it  should  be  lived.  More.  It  is 
going  to  make  life  be  lived  as  it  should  be  lived.  Some 
one  said  to  me  the  other  day  —  the  Duchess  of  Wear- 
mouth;  I  was  staying  at  Wearmouth  Castle  —  that  the 
Garden  Home  is  going  to  be  a  sanctuary.  I  said  '  Bah ! ' 
like  that  —  '  Bah ! '  I  said,  '  Every  town,  every  city,  every 
village  is  a  sanctuary;  and  asleep  in  its  sanctuary;  and 
dead  to  life  in  its  sanctuary;  and  dead  to  Christ  in  its 
sanctuary.'  I  said,  '  The  Garden  Home  is  not  going  to 
be  a  sanctuary,  nor  yet  a  sepulchre,  nor  yet  a  tomb.  It 
is  going  to  be  a  symbol,  a  signal,  a  shout.'  More  ham." 


124  IF    WINTER    COMES 

He  paused,  pushed  his  plate  to  one  side  more  as  if  it 
had  bitten  him  than  as  if  he  desired  more  ham  to  be 
placed  upon  it,  and  looked  around  the  room  before  him, 
sulkily,  and  exercising  his  chin. 

Sabre  had  a  vision  of  dense  crowds  of  bishops  in  lawn 
sleeves,  duchesses  in  Gainsborough  hats,  and  herds  of  in 
tensely  fashionable  rank  and  file  applauding  vigorously. 
He  could  almost  hear  the  applause.  But  how  to  deal 
with  this  man  he  never  knew.  He  always  felt  he  was  about 
fourteen  when  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  thus  addressed  him. 
He  therefore  said,  "  Great ! "  and  Mabel  murmured, 
"How  splendid!" 


VIII 

But  Sabre's  thought  was  —  and  it  remained  with  him 
throughout  the  meal,  acutely  illustrated  by  the  impressive 
monologues  which  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  addressed  to 
Mabel,  and  by  her  radiant  responses  —  his  thought  was, 
"  I  simply  can't  get  on  with  this  chap  —  or  with  any  of 
Mabel's  crowd.  They  all  make  me  feel  like  a  kid.  I 
can't  answer  them  when  they  talk.  They  say  things  I  've 
got  ideas  about  but  I  never  can  explain  my  ideas  to  them. 
I  never  can  argue  my  ideas  with  them.  They  Ve  all  got 
convictions  and  I  believe  I  have  n't  any  convictions.  I  've 
only  got  instincts  and  these  convictions  come  down  on 
instincts  like  a  hammer  on  an  egg." 

Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  was  saying,  "  And  we  shall 
have  no  poor  in  the  Garden  Home.  No  ugly  streets.  No 
mean  surroundings.  Uplift.  Everywhere  uplift." 

There  slipped  out  of  Sabre  aloud,  "  There  you  are. 
That 's  the  kind  of  thing." 

Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw,  as  if  to  disclose  without  fear 
precisely  where  he  was,  dismantled  from  between  them 


IF    WINTER    COMES  125 

the  hedge  of  flowers  which  he  had  replaced  and  looked 
sulkily  across.  "  What  kind  of  thing?" 

Sabre  had  a  vision  of  himself  advancing  an  egg  for 
Mr.  Bagshaw's  hammer.  "  About  having  no  poor  in  the 
Garden  Home.  Is  n't  there  something  about  the  poor 
being  always  with  us  ?  " 

"  Certainly  there  is." 

"In  the  Bible?" 

"  In  the  Bible.  Do  you  know  to  whom  it  was  ad 
dressed?  " 

Sabre  admitted  that  he  didn't. 

"To  Judas  Iscariot."     (Smash  went  the  egg!) 

Sabre  said  feebly  —  he  could  not  handle  his  arguments 
—  "  Well,  anyway,  '  always  with  us  '  —  there  you  are. 
If  you  're  going  to  create  a  place  where  life  is  going  to 
be  lived  as  it  should  be  lived,  I  don't  see  how  you  're  go 
ing  to  shut  the  poor  out  of  it.  Are  n't  they  a  part  of  life  ? 
They  Ve  got  as  much  right  to  get  away  from  mean  streets 
and  ugly  surroundings  as  we  have  —  and  a  jolly  sight 
more  need.  Always  with  us.  It  does  n't  matter  tuppence 
whom  it  was  said  to." 

"  It  happens,"  pronounced  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw,  "  to 
matter  a  great  deal  more  than  tuppence.  It  happens  to 
knock  the  bottom  clean  out  of  your  argument.  It  was 
addressed  to  the  Iscariot  because  the  Iscariot  was  trying 
to  do  just  what  you  are  trying  to  do.  He  was  trying  to 
make  duty  to  the  poor  an  excuse  for  grudging  service  to 
Christ.  Now,  listen,  Sabre.  If  people  thought  a  little 
less  about  their  duty  towards  the  poor  and  a  little  more 
about  their  duty  towards  themselves,  they  would  be  in  a 
great  deal  fitter  state  to  help  their  fellow  creatures,  poor 
or  rich.  That  is  what  the  Garden  Home  is  to  do  for 
those  who  live  in  it,  and  that  is  what  the  Garden  Home 
is  going  to  do." 

He  stabbed  sharply  with  the  butt  of  a  dessert  knife  on 


126  IF   WINTER    COMES 

the  dessert  plate  which  had  just  been  placed  before  him. 
The  plate  split  neatly  into  two  exact  halves.  He  gazed 
at  them  sulkily,  put  them  aside,  drew  another  plate  be 
fore  him,  and  remarked  to  Mabel : 

'  You  know  we  are  moving  into  the  vicarage  to 
morrow  ?  We  are  giving  an  At  Home  to-morrow  week. 
You  will  come." 

The  plural  pronoun  included  his  mother.  He  was  in 
tensely  celibate. 

IX 

The  day  ended  in  a  blazing  row. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  carried  off 
Mabel  to  view  the  progress  of  the  Garden  Home.  While 
they  dallied  over  coffee  at  the  luncheon  table,  Sabre  was 
fidgeting  for  Bagshaw  to  be  gone.  Mabel,  operating 
dexterously  behind  the  blue  flame  of  a  spirit  lamp,  Low 
Jinks  hovering  around  in  well-trained  acolyte  perfor 
mances,  said,  "  Now  I  rather  pride  myself  on  my  Turkish 
coffee,  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw." 

Mr.  Bagshaw,  who  appeared  to  pride  himself  at 
least  as  much  on  his  characteristics,  replied  by  sulkily 
looking  at  his  watch;  and  a  moment  later  by  sulkily 
taking  a  cup,  rather  as  if  he  were  a  schoolboy  bidden  to 
take  lemonade  when  mannishly  desirous  of  shandygaff, 
and  sulkily  remarking,  "  I  must  go." 

Sabre  fidgeted  to  see  the  words  put  into  action.  He 
wanted  Bagshaw  to  be  off.  He  wanted  to  resume  his 
sudden  intention  of  remedying  his  normal  relations  with 
Mabel  and  the  afternoon  promised  better  than  the  in 
tention  had  thus  far  seen.  That  niggling  over  the  un 
expectedness  of  his  return,  —  well,  of  course  it  was  un 
expected  and  upsetting  of  her  household  routine;  but 
the  unexpectedness  was  over  and  the  letter  incident  over, 


IF   WINTER    COMES  127 

and  Mabel,  thanks  to  her  guest,  delightfully  mooded. 
Good,  therefore,  for  the  afternoon.  When  the  dickens 
was  this  chap  going? 

Then  Bagshaw,  rising  sulkily,  "Well,  you'd  better 
come  up  and  have  a  look  round." 

And  Mabel,  animatedly,  "  I  'd  like  to  ";  and  to  Sabre, 
"  You  won't  care  to  come,  Mark." 

Sabre  said,  "  No,  I  won't." 


X 

Throughout  dinner  —  Mabel  returned  only  just  in  time 
to  get  ready  for  dinner  —  Sabre  examined  with  dispas 
sionate  interest  the  exercise  of  trying  to  say  certain  words 
and  being  unable  to  say  them.  They  conversed  desul 
torily;  in  their  usual  habit.  He  told  himself  that  he  was 
speaking  several  hundred  "  other  "  words ;  but  the  in 
tractable  words  that  he  desired  to  utter  would  not  be 
framed.  He  counted  them  on  his  fingers  under  the  table. 
Only  seven:  "Well,  how  was  the  Garden  Home  look 
ing?"  Only  seven.  He  could  not  say  them.  The  in 
cident  they  brought  up  rankled.  He  had  come  home  to 
take  a  day  off  with  her.  She  knew  he  was  there  at  the 
luncheon  table  to  take  a  day  off  with  her.  It  had  inter 
ested  her  so  little,  she  had  been  so  entirely  indifferent 
to  it,  that  she  had  not  even  expressed  a  wish  he  should 
so  much  as  attend  her  on  the  inspection  with  Bagshaw. 
The  more  he  thdught  of  it  the  worse  it  rankled.  She 
knew  he  was  at  home  to  be  with  her  and  she  had  deliber 
ately  walked  off  and  left  him.  .  .  .  "  Well,  how  was  the 
Garden  Home  looking  ?"  No.  Not  much.  He  could  n't. 
He  visualised  the  impossible  seven  written  on  the  table 
cloth.  He  saw  them  in  script;  he  saw  them  in  print; 
he  imagined  them  written  by  a  finger  on  the  wall.  Say 
them  —  no. 


128  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Mabel  left  him  sitting  at  the  table  with  a  cigarette. 
There  came  suddenly  to  his  assistance  in  the  fight  with 
the  stubborn  seven,  abreast  of  the  thoughts  in  the  office 
that  had  brought  him  home,  a  realisation  of  her  situa 
tion  such  as  he  had  had  that  first  night  together  in  the 
house,  eight  years  before;  there  she  was  in  the  morning 
room,  alone.  She  had  given  up  her  father's  home  for  his 
home  —  and  there  she  was  :  a  happy  afternoon  behind  her 
and  no  one  to  discuss  it  with.  Just  because  he  could  not 
say,  "  Well,  how  was  the  Garden  Home  looking?  " 

He  thought,  "  I  'm  hateful."  He  got  up  vigorously 
and  strode  into  the  morning  room :  "  Well,  how  was  the 
Garden  Home  looking?  "  His  voice  was  bright  and  in 
terested. 

She  was  reading  a  magazine.  She  did  not  raise  her 
eyes  from  the  page.  "  Eh?  Oh,  very  nice.  Delightful." 

"  Tell  us  about  it." 

"  What?  Oh  ...  yes."  Her  mind  was  in  the  maga 
zine.  She  read  on  a  moment.  Then  she  laid  the  maga 
zine  on  her  lap  and  looked  up.  "The  Garden  Home? 
Yes  —  oh,  yes.  It  was  charming.  It 's  simply  springing 
up.  You  ought  to  have  come." 

He  stretched  himself  in  a  big  chair  opposite  her.  He 
laughed.  "  Well,  dash  it,  I  like  that.  You  did  n't  ex 
actly  implore  me  to." 

She  yawned.  "  Oh,  well.  I  knew  you  would  n't  care 
about  it."  She  yawned  again,  "  Oh  dear.  I  'm  tired. 
We  must  have  walked  miles,  to  and  fro."  She  put  down 
her  hands  to  take  up  her  magazine  again.  She  clearly 
was  not  interested  by  his  interest.  But  he  thought, 
"  Well,  of  course  she  's  not.  For  her  it 's  like  eating 
something  after  it 's  got  cold.  Dinner  was  the  time." 

He  said,  "  I  expect  you  did  —  walk  miles.  Bagshaw 
all  over  it,  I  bet." 

She  did  what  he  called  "tighten  herself."     "Well, 


IF   WINTER    COMES  129 

naturally,  he 's  pleased  —  enthusiastic.  He 's  done 
more  than  any  one  else  to  keep  the  idea  going." 

Sabre  laughed.  "  I  should  say  so !  Marvellous  per 
son  !  What 's  he  going  to  do  about  not  wearing  clerical 
dress  when  he  has  to  wear  gaiters?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  —  gaiters?" 

Signs  of  flying  up.  What  on  earth  for?  "Why, 
when  he  's  a  bishop.  Don't  you  —  " 

She  flew  up.     "  I  suppose  that 's  some  sneer !  " 

"  Sneer !  Rot.  I  mean  it.  A  chap  like  Bagshaw  's  not 
going  to  be  a  parish  priest  all  his  life.  He  's  out  to  be  a 
bishop  and  he  '11  be  a  bishop.  If  he  changed  his  mind 
and  wanted  to  be  a  Judge  or  a  Cabinet  Minister,  he  'd  be 
a  Judge  or  a  Cabinet  Minister.  He  's  that  sort." 

"  I  knew  you  were  sneering." 

"  Mabel,  don't  be  silly.  I  'm  not  sneering.  Bagshaw  's 
a  clever  —  " 

"  You  say  he  's  '  that  sort.'  That 's  a  sneer."  She  put 
her  hands  on  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  raised  herself  to 
sit  upright.  She  spoke  with  extraordinary  intensity. 
"  Nearly  everything  you  say  to  me  or  to  my  friends  is  a 
sneer.  There  's  always  something  behind  what  you  say. 
Other  people  notice  it  —  " 

"  Other  people." 

"  Yes.  Other  people.  They  say  you  're  sarcastic. 
That 's  just  a  polite  way  —  " 

He  said,  "  Oh,  come  now,  Mabel.  Not  sarcastic.  I 
swear  no  one  thinks  I  'm  sarcastic.  I  promise  you  Bag 
shaw  does  n't.  Bagshaw  thinks  I  'm  a  fool.  A  complete 
fool.  Look  at  lunch !  " 

She  caught  him  up.  She  was  really  angry.  "  Yes. 
Look  at  lunch.  That 's  just  what  I  mean.  Any  one 
that  comes  to  the  house,  any  of  my  friends,  anything  they 
say  you  must  always  take  differently,  always  argue  about. 
That 's  what  I  call  sneering  — 


130  IF   WINTER    COMES 

He,  flatly,  "  Well,  that  is  n't  sneering.     Let's  drop  it." 
She  had  no  intention  of  dropping  it.     "  It  is  sneering. 
They  don't  know  it  is.     But  I  know  it  is." 

XI 

He  had  the  feeling  that  his  anger  would  arise  respon 
sive  to  hers,  as  one  beast  calling  defiance  to  another,  if 
this  continued.  And  he  did  not  want  it  to  arise.  He 
had  sometimes  thought  of  anger  as  a  savage  beast  chained 
within  a  man.  It  had  helped  him  to  control  rising  ill- 
temper.  He  thought  of  it  now :  of  her  anger.  He  had 
a  vision  of  it  prowling,  as  a  dark  beast  among  caves, 
challenging  into  the  night.  He  wished  to  retain  the 
vision.  His  own  anger,  prowling  also,  would  not  re 
spond  while  he  retained  the  picture.  It  was  prowling.  It 
was  suspicious.  It  would  be  mute  while  he  watched  it. 
While  he  watched  it.  ... 

He  pulled  himlself  sharply  to  his  feet. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said.  "  It 's  not  meant  to  be  sneer 
ing.  Let 's  call  it  my  unfortunate  manner." 

He  stood  before  her,  half-smiling,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  looking  down  at  her. 

She  said,  "  Perhaps  you  're  different  with  your  friends. 
I  hope  you  are.  With  your  friends." 

He  caught  a  glint  in  her  eye  as  she  repeated  the 
words.  Its  meaning  did  not  occur  to  him. 

He  bantered,  "  Oh,  I  'm  not  as  bad  as  all  that.  And 
anyway,  the  friends  are  all  the  same  friends.  This  place 
is  n't  so  big." 

Then  that  quick  glint  of  her  eye  was  explained  —  the 
flash  before  the  discharge. 

"  Perhaps  your  friends  are  just  coming  back,"  she 
said.  "  Lady  Tybar." 

The  vision  of  his  dark  anger  broke  away.    Mute  while 


IF   WINTER    COMES  I31 

he  watched  it,  immediately  it  lifted  its  head  and  answered 
her  own.  "Look  here  — "  he  began;  and  stopped. 
"  Look  here,"  he  said  more  quietly,  "  don't  begin  that  ab 
surd  business  again." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  absurd." 

41  No,  you  called  it  '  funny.'  " 

She  drew  in  her  feet  as  if  to  arise.  "  Yes,  and  I  think 
it 's  funny.  All  of  it.  I  think  you  've  been  funny  all  day 
to-day.  Coming  back  like  that !  " 

"  I  told  you  why  I  came  back.  To  have  a  day  off  with 
you.  Funny  day  off  it 's  been !  You  're  right  there !  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  a  funny  day  off." 

He  thought,  "  My  God,  this  bickering !  Why  don't  I 
get  out  of  the  room?  " 

"  Come  back  for  a  day  off  with  me !  It 's  a  funny 
thing  you  came  back  just  in  time  to  get  that  letter !  Be 
fore  it  was  delivered !  There !  Now  you  know !  " 

He  was  purely  amazed.  He  thought,  and  his  amaze* 
ment  was  such  that,  characteristically,  his  anger  left  him; 
he  thought,  "  Well,  of  all  the—  !  " 

But  she  otherwise  interpreted  his  astonishment.  She 
thought  she  had  made  an  advantage  and  she  pressed  it. 
"  Perhaps  you  knew  it  was  coming  ?  " 

"  How  on  earth  could  I  have  known  it  was  coming?  " 

She  seemed  to  pause,  to  be  considering.  "  She  might 
have  told  you.  You  might  have  seen  her." 

He  said,  "  As  it  happens,  I  did  see  her,  Not  three 
hours  before  I  came  back." 

She  seemed  disappointed.  She  said,  "  I  know  you  did. 
We  met  Lord  Tybar." 

And  he  thought,  "  Good  lord !  She  was  trying  to  catch 
me." 

She  went  on,  "  You  never  told  me  you  'd  met  them. 
Wasn't  that  funny?" 

"If  you  'd  just  think  a  little  you  5d  see  there  was 


132  IF    WINTER    COMES 

nothing  funny  about  it.  You  found  the  letter  so  amaz 
ingly  funny  that,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  'd  had  about 
enough  of  the  Tybars.  And  I  've  had  about  enough  of 
them." 

"  I  daresay  you  have  —  with  me.  Perhaps  you  '11  tell 
me  this  —  would  you  have  told  me  about  the  letter  if  I 
had  n't  seen  you  get  it  ?  " 

He  thought  before  he  answered  and  he  answered  out 
of  his  thoughts.  He  said  slowly,  "I  —  don't  —  believe 
—  I  —  would.  I  would  n't.  I  would  n't  because  I  'd 
have  known  perfectly  well  that  you  'd  have  thought  it  — 
funny." 

XII 

No  answer  he  could  have  made  could  have  more  exas 
perated  her.  "I  —  don't  —  believe  —  I  —  would."  De 
liberation  !  Something  incomprehensible  to  her  going  on 
in  his  mind,  and  as  a  result  of  it  a  statement  that  no  one 
on  earth  (she  felt)  but  he  would  have  made.  Any  one 
else  would  have  said  boldly,  blusteringly,  "  Of  course  I 
would  have  told  you  about  the  letter."  She  would  have 
liked  that.  She  would  have  disbelieved  it  and  she  could 
have  said,  and  enjoyed  saying,  she  disbelieved  it.  Or 
any  one  else  would  have  said  furiously,  "  No,  I  'm 
damned  if  I  'd  have  shown  you  the  letter."  She  would 
have  liked  that.  It  would  have  affirmed  her  suspicions 
that  there  was  "  something  in  it  " ;  and  she  wished  her 
suspicions  to  be  affirmed.  It  would  have  been  some 
thing  definite.  Something  justifiably  incentive  of  anger, 
of  resentment,  of  jealousy.  Something  she  could  under 
stand. 

For  she  did  not  understand  her  husband.  That  was  hef 
grievance  against  him.  She  never  had  understood  him. 
That  den  incident  in  the  very  earliest  days  of  their  mar 
riage  had  been  an  intimation  of  a  way  of  looking  at 


IF    WINTER    COMES  133 

things  that  to  her  was  entirely  and  exasperatingly  inex 
plicable;  and  since  then,  increasingly  year  by  year,  her 
understanding  had  failed  to  follow  him.  He  had  retired 
farther  and  farther  into  himself.  He  lived  in  his  mind, 
and  she  could  by  no  means  penetrate  into  his  mind.  His 
ideas  about  things,  his  attitude  towards  things,  were 
wholly  and  exasperatingly  incomprehensible  to  her. 

"  It 's  like,"  she  had  once  complained  to  her  father, 
"  it 's  like  having  a  foreigner  in  the  house." 

Things,  in  her  expression,  "  went  on  "  in  his  mind,  and 
she  could  not  understand  what  went  on  in  his  mind,  and 
it  exasperated  her  to  know  they  were  going  on  and  that 
she  could  not  understand  them. 

"I  —  don't  —  believe  —  I  —  would."  Characteristic, 
typical  expression  of  those  processes  of  his  mind  that  she 
could  not  understand !  And  then  the  reason :  "  I 
would  n't  because  I  'd  have  known  perfectly  well  that 
you  'd  have  thought  it  —  funny." 

And,  exasperation  on  exasperation's  head,  he  was  right. 
She  did  think  it  funny ;  and  by  his  very  reply  —  for  she 
knew  him  well  enough,  so  exasperatingly  well,  to  know 
that  this  was  complete  sincerity,  complete  truth  —  he 
proved  to  her  that  it  was  not  really  funny  but  merely 
something  she  could  not  understand.  Robbery  of  her 
fancy,  her  hope  that  it  was  something  definite  against 
him,  something  justifiably  incentive  of  resentment,  of 
jealousy ! 

It  was  as  if  he  had  said,  "  You  can't  understand  a  letter 
like  this.  There  's  nothing  in  it  to  understand.  And 
that 's  just  what  you  can't  understand.  Look  here,  you 
see  my  head.  I  'm  in  there.  You  can't  come  in.  You 
don't  know  how  to.  I  can't  tell  you  how  to.  Nobody 
could  tell  you.  And  you  would  n't  know  what  to  make 
of  it  if  you  did  get  in." 

Exasperating.     Insufferable.     Insupportable ! 


134  IF    WINTER    COMES 

She  could  not  express  her  feelings  in  words.  She  ex 
pressed  them  in  action.  She  arose  violently  and  left  the 
room.  The  whole  of  her  emotions  she  put  into  the  slam 
of  the  door  behind  her.  The  ornaments  shivered.  A 
cup  sprang  off  a  bracket  and  dashed  itself  to  pieces  on 
the  floor. 

XIII 

Sabre  regarded  the  broken  cup  much  as  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  presumably  regarded  the  fallen  apple.  He 
"  worked  back  "  from  the  cup  through  the  events  of  the 
day,  and  through  the  events  of  the  day  returned  to  the 
cup.  It  interested  him  to  find  that  the  fragments  on  the 
floor  were  as  logical  a  result  of  the  movements  of  the 
day  as  they  would  have  been  of  getting  the  small  hand  axe 
out  of  the  woodshed,  aiming  a  blow  at  the  cup,  and  hitting 
the  cup. 

He  thought,  "  I  started  to  break  that  cup  when  I  rustled 
the  newspaper  at  breakfast.  I  went  on  when  I  suddenly 
came  back  and  got  into  that  niggling  business  over  why 
I  had  come  back.  Went  on  when  I  walked  off  to  my 
room  after  that  letter  business.  Practically  took  up  the 
axe  when  I  could  n't  say,  '  Well,  how 's  the  Garden 
Home  going  on  ?  '  at  dinner.  And  smashed  it  when  I 
chaffed  about  Bagshaw  an  hour  ago.  Rum  business! 
Rotten  business." 

That  was  the  day's  epitaph.  But  for  the  murder  of  the 
cup  he  found  —  gone  to  bed  and  lying  awake  —  a  cul 
prit  other  than  himself.  He  thought,  "  It  was  meeting 
Nona  made  me  come  home  like  that.  But  if  that  had 
been  the  first  time  I  'd  ever  met  Nona  I  should  n't  have 
returned.  So  it  goes  back  further  than  that.  Nine  — • 
ten  years.  The  day  she  married  Tybar.  If  she  hadn't 
married  Tybar  she  'd  have  married  me.  The  cup 
would  n't  have  been  broken.  Nona  broke  that  cup." 


CHAPTER   IV 
I 

THESE  events  were  on  a  Monday.  On  the  following 
Thursday  Nona  came  to  see  him  at  his  office. 

She  was  announced  through  the  speaking-tube  on  his 
desk: 

"  Lady  Tybar  to  see  you,  sir." 

Nona!  But  he  was  not  really  surprised.  He  had 
taken  no  notice  of  her  letter.  He  had  wanted  to  go  up  to 
Northrepps  to  see  her,  but  he  had  not  been.  When  two 
days  passed  and  still  he  prevented  himself  from  going, 
he  began  to  have  the  feeling  —  somehow  —  that  she 
would  come  to  see  him.  It  was  the  third  day  and  she  was 
here,  downstairs. 

"  Ask  her  to  come  up,"  he  said. 

She  came  in.  She  wore  (as  Sabre  saw  it)  "a  pale-blue 
sort  of  thing  "  and  "  a  sort  of  black  hat."  He  had  con 
sidered  it  as  an  odd  thing,  in  his  thoughts  of  her  since 
their  meeting,  that,  though  he  could  always  have  some 
kind  of  notion  what  other  women  were  wearing,  he  never 
could  remember  any  detail  of  Nona's  dress. 

But  it  was  her  face  he  always  looked  at. 

She  stood  still  immediately  she  was  across  the  thresh 
old  and  the  door  closed  behind  her.  She  was  smiling  as 
though  she  felt  herself  to  be  up  to  some  lark.  "  Hullo. 
Marko.  Don't  you  hate  me  for  coming  in  here  like  this  ?  " 

"  It 's  jolly  surprising." 

"  That 's  another  way  of  saying  it.  Now  if  you  'd  said 
it  was  surprisingly  jolly!  Well,  shake  hands,  Marko, 
and  pretend  you  're  glad." 


136  IF    WINTER    COMES 

He  laughed  and  put  out  his  hand.  But  she  delayed 
response ;  she  first  slipped  off  the  gauntlets  she  was  wear 
ing  and  then  gave  him  her  hand.  "  There !  "  she  said. 

"  There !  "  It  was  as  though  she  had  now  done  some 
thing  she  much  wanted  to  do ;  as  one  says  "  There !  "  on  at 
last  sitting  down  after  much  fatigue. 

She  tossed  her  gauntlets  on  to  a  chair.  She  walked 
past  him  towards  the  window.  "  You  got  my  letter?  " 

"  Yes." 

Her  face  was  averted.  Her  voice  had  not  the  banter 
ing  note  with  which  she  had  spoken  at  her  entry. 

"  You  never  answered  it." 

"  Well,  I  'd  just  seen  you  —  just  before  I  got  it." 

She  was  looking  out  of  the  window.  "  Why  have  n't 
you  been  up?  " 

"Oh  —  I  don't  know.     I  was  coming." 

"  Well,  I  had  to  come,"  she  said. 

He  made  no  reply.     He  could  think  of  none  to  make. 

II 

She  turned  sharply  away  from  the  window  and  came 
towards  him,  radiant  again,  as  at  her  entry.  And  in 
her  first  bantering  tone,  "  I  know  you  hate  it,"  she 
smiled,  resuming  her  first  suggestion,  "  me  coming  here, 
like  this.  It  makes  you  feel  uncomfortable.  You  always 
feel  uncomfortable  when  you  see  me,  Marko.  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  you  thought  when  they  told  you  I  was  here  — " 

He  started  to  speak. 

She  went  on,  "  No,  I  would  n't.  I  'd  like  to  know  just 
what  you  were  doing  before  they  told  you.  Tell  me  that, 
Marko." 

"  I  believe  I  was  n't  doing  anything.     Just  thinking." 

"  Well,  I  like  you  best  when  you  're  thinking.  You 
puzzle,  don't  you,  Marko  ?  You  Ve  got  a  funny  old 


IF   WINTER    COMES  137 

head.  I  believe  you  live  in  your  old  head,  you  know. 
Puzzling  things.  Clever  beast!  I  wish  I  could  live  in 
mine."  And  she  gave  a  note  of  laughter. 

"  Where  do  you  live,  Nona?  " 

"  I  don't  live.  I  just  go  on  "  —  she  paused  —  "  flot 
sam." 

Strange  word  to  use,  strangely  spoken! 

It  seemed  to  Sabre  to  drop  with  a  strange,  detached 
effect  into  the  conversation  between  them.  His  habit  of 
visualising  inanimate  things  caused  him  to  see  as  it  were 
a  pool  between  them  at  their  feet,  and  from  the  word 
dropped  into  it  ripples  that  came  to  his  feet  upon  his 
margin  of  the  pool  and  to  her  feet  upon  hers. 

Ill 

He  took  the  word  away  from  its  personal  application. 
"  I  believe  that 's  rather  what  I  was  thinking  about  when 
you  came,  Nona.  About  how  we  just  go  on  —  flotsam. 
Don't  you  know  on  a  river  where  it 's  tidal,  or  on  the 
seashore  at  the  turn,  the  mass  of  stuff  you  see  there, 
driftwood  and  spent  foam  and  stuff,  just  floating  there, 
uneasily,  brought  in  and  left  there  —  from  somewhere ; 
and  then  presently  the  tide  begins  to  take  it  and  it 's 
drawn  off  and  moves  away  and  goes  —  somewhere.  Ar 
rives  and  floats  and  goes.  That's  mysterious,  Nona?" 

She  said  swiftly,  as  though  she  were  stirred,  "  Oh, 
Marko,  yes,  that  ?s  mysterious.  Do  you  know  sometimes 
I've  seen  drift  like  that,  and  I've  felt — -oh,  I  don't 
know.  But  I  Ve  put  out  a  stick  and  drawn  m  a  piece  of 
wood  just  as  the  stuff  was  moving  off,  just  to  save  it  be 
ing  carried  away  into  —  well,  into  that,  you  know." 

"Have  you,  Nona?" 

She  answered,  "  Do  you  think  that 's  what  life  is, 
Marko?" 


138  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  It 's  not  unlike,"  he  said.  And  he  added,  "  Except 
about  some  one  coming  along  with  a  stick  and  drawing  a 
bit  into  safety.  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  Perhaps 
that 's  what  we  're  all  looking  for  —  " 

He  suddenly  realised  that  he  was  back  precisely  at  the 
thoughts  his  mind  had  taken  up  on  the  morning  he  had 
met  her.  But  with  a  degree  more  of  illumination.  Two 
feelings  came  into  his  mind,  the  second  hard  upon  the 
other  and  overriding  it,  as  a  fierce  horseman  might  catch 
and  override  one  pursued.  He  said,  "  It 's  rather  jolly 
to  have  some  one  that  can  see  ideas  like  that."  And  then 
the  overriding,  and  he  said  with  astonishing  roughness, 
"But  you — you  aren't  flotsam!  How  can  you  be 
flotsam  —  the  life  you  Ve  —  taken  ?  " 

And,  lo,  if  he  had  struck  her,  and  she  been  bound, 
defenceless,  and  with  her  eyes  entreating  not  to  be  struck 
again,  she  could  not  deeper  have  entreated  him  than  in 
the  glance  she  fleeted  from  her  eyes,  the  quiver  of  her 
lids  that  first  released,  then  veiled  it. 

It  stopped  his  words.      It  caught  his  throat. 

IV 

He  got  up  quickly.  "  I  say,  Nona,  never  mind  about 
thinking.  I  '11  tell  you  what 's  been  doing.  Rotten. 
Happened  just  after  I  met  you  the  other  day." 

'  The  dust  on  these  roads !  "  she  said.  She  touched 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  "What,  Marko?" 

"  Well,  old  Fortune  promised  to  take  me  into  partner 
ship  about  an  age  ago." 

"  Marko,  he  ought  to  have  done  it  an  age  ago. 
What 's  there  rotten  about  that  ?  "  Her  voice  and  her 
air  were  as  gay  as  when  she  had  entered. 

"  The  rotten  thing  is  that  he  's  turned  it  down.  At 
least  practically  has.  He  —  "  He  told  her  of  the  Twyn- 


IF   WINTER   COMES  139 

ing  and  Fortune  incident.  "  Pretty  rotten  of  old  For 
tune,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Old  fiend !  "  said  Nona.     "  Old  trout !  " 

Sabre  laughed.  "  Good  word,  trout.  The  men  here 
all  say  he  's  like  a  whale.  They  call  him  Jonah,"  and  he 
told  her  why. 

She  laughed  gaily.  "  Marko !  How  disgusting  you 
are!  But  I  'm  sorry.  I  am.  Poor  old  Marko.  .  .  .  Of 
course  it  does  n't  matter  a  horse-radish  what  an  old  trout 
like  that  thinks  about  your  work,  but  it  does  matter, 
does  n't  it  ?  I  know  how  you  feel.  They  had  an  author 
man  at  a  place  we  were  staying  at  the  other  day  — 
Maurice  Ash  —  and  he  told  me  that  although  he  says  it 
does  n't  matter,  and  knows  it  does  n't  matter,  when  an 
absolutely  trivial  person  says  something  riling  about  any 
of  his  stuff,  still  it  does  matter.  He  said  a  thing  you  've 
produced  out  of  yourself  you  can't  bear  to  have  slighted 
—  not  by  the  butcher.  Gladys  Occleve  made  us  laugh. 
Maurice  Ash  said  to  her,  '  It 's  like  a  mother's  child. 
Look  here,  you  're  a  countess/  he  said  to  her.  '  You 
ought  n't  to  mind  what  a  butcher  thinks  of  your  children; 
but  supposing  the  butcher  said  your  infant  Henry  was  a 
stupid  little  brat ;  what  would  you  do  ?  '  Gladys  said 
she  'd  dash  a  best  end  of  the  neck  straight  into  his  face." 

Sabre  laughed.  "Yes,  that's  the  feeling.  But  of 
course,  all  these  books  "  —  he  indicated  the  shelves  — • 
"  are  n't  mine,  not  my  children,  more  like  my  adopted 
children." 

She  declared  it  was  the  same  thing.  "  More  so,  in  a 
way.  You  've  invented  them,  have  n't  you,  called  them 
out  of  the  vasty  deep  sort  of  thing  and  brought  them  up 
in  the  way  they  should  go.  I  do  think  it 's  rather  fine, 
Marko."  * 

She  was  at  the  shelves,  scanning  the  books.  Her  fond, 
her  almost  tender  sympathy  made  him,  too,  feel  that  it 


140  IF    WINTER    COMES 

was  rather  fine.  Her  light  words  in  her  high,  clear  tone 
voiced  exactly  his  feelings  towards  the  books.  Talking 
with  her  was,  in  the  reception  and  return  of  his  thoughts, 
nearer  to  reading  a  book  that  delighted  him  than  to 
anything  else  with  which  he  could  compare  it.  There 
was  the  same  interchange  of  ideas,  not  necessarily  ex 
pressed;  the  same  creation  and  play  of  fancy,  imagined, 
not  stated. 

Her  hands  were  moving  about  the  volumes,  pulling 
out  a  book  here  and  there;  she  mused  the  titles.  "  '  Greek 
Unseens  —  Prose  ' ;  '  Greek  Unseens  —  Verse  ' ;  '  Latin 
Unseens  —  Verse.'  Marvellous  person,  Marko !  '  The 
Shell  Algebra';  'The  Shell  Latin  Grammar';  '  The 
Shell  English  Literature':  'The  Shell  Modern  Geog 
raphy/  That 's  a  series  '  The  Shell,'  eh  ?  I  do  call  that 
a  good  idea.  '  The  Six  Terms  Chemistry  ' ;  '  The  Six 
Terms  Geology.' ' 

"  Yes,  that 's  another  series,"  he  said.  He  was  stand 
ing  beside  her.  Delightful  this!  His  pride  in  his  work 
thrilled  anew.  "  You  see  the  idea  of  the  thing.  Gives 
the  boy  the  feeling  of  something  definite  to  get  through 
in  a  definite  time." 

She  was  reading  one  of  the  prefaces,  signed  with  his 
initials.  "  Yes,  that 's  ever  so  good.  I  see  what  you  've 
written  here,  ' .  .  .  avoiding  the  formidable  and  unat 
tractive  wilderness  that  a  new  textbook  commonly  pre 
sents  to  the  pupil's  mind.'  I  call  that  jolly  good,  Marko. 
I  call  it  all  awfully  good.  Fancy  you  sitting  in  here  and 
thinking  out  all  those  ideas.  Or  do  you  think  them  out 
at  home  ?  Do  you  talk  them  out  with  Mabel  ?  " 

He  thought  of  Mabel's  expression.  "  Those  lesson 
books."  He  lied.  "  Oh,  yes.  Pretty  often." 

"Show  me  which  was  the  first  one  of  all  —  the  one 
you  began  with." 

He  showed  her.     "  Fancy !  "     She  handled  it.     "  How 


IF    WINTER    COMES  141 

fearfully  proud  of  it  you  must  have  been,  Marko.  And 
Mabel ;  was  n't  she  proud  ?  The  very  first !  "  She  called 
it  "  Dear  thing  "  and  returned  it  to  its  place  with  a  little 
pat,  as  of  affection. 

He  turned  away.    "  Oh,  well,  that 's  enough,"  he  said. 


She  moved  about  the  room,  touching  things,  looking 
at  things. 

"  Show  me  something  else.  Is  that  where  the  old 
trout  basks  ?  Can  he  hear  us  ?  I  'm  glad  I  've  seen  your 
room,  Marko.  I  shall  imagine  you  puzzling  in  here.'* 

Touching  things,  looking  at  things.  ...  He  thought 
the  room  would  always  look  different  —  after  this.  He 
felt  strangely  disturbed.  He  could  with  difficulty  reply 
to  her.  His  mind  threw  back,  in  its  habit,  to  some  dim 
occasion  when  he  had  felt  in  some  degree  as  he  was 
feeling  now.  When?  Certainly  he  had  felt  it  before. 
When? 

He  remembered.  It  was  a  Saturday  in  the  first  month 
of  his  first  term  at  Tidborough  School  when  his  father 
had  come  over  to  see  him.  The  loneliness  of  newness 
was  still  upon  him.  He  had  been  affected  almost  to  tears 
by  being  with  some  one  whose  mind  was  open,  as  it 
were,  for  him  to  jump  into :  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
open  his  mind,  unseal  the  home  thoughts,  unlock  the 
timid  tongue.  He  had  talked  —  how  he  had  talked  1 
He  had  felt  bursting  to  talk ;  and  only  talking  could  ease 
the  feeling;  and  how  it  had  eased!  Yes,  this  was  the 
same  again.  He  did  not  want  her  to  go.  He  wanted  to 
talk  —  how  he  wanted  to  talk !  —  to  tell,  unseal,  unlock, 
expose. 

He  said,  "  I  tell  you  what,  Nona.  I  '11  tell  you  some 
thing.  I  've  an  idea  sometimes  of  cutting  out  from  all 


142  IF    WINTER    COMES 

this  place  and  starting  an  educational  publishing  business 
<on  my  own." 

She  was  enormously  interested.  "  Oh,  Marko,  if  only 
you  would !  " 

"  Well,  I  think  about  it.  I  do.  I  can  see  a  biggish 
thing  in  it.  The  Tidborough  Press,  I  'd  call  it.  Like  the 
University  Press,  you  know,  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
By  Jove,  it  might  go  any  distance,  you  know !  " 

"  Oh,  you  must !    You  must !  " 

He  began  to  pour  out  the  tremendous  and  daring 
scheme. 

VI 

He  talked  animatedly,  —  these  long  pent  up  enthu 
siasms.  She  attended;  rapt  and  gleaming-eyed,  follow 
ing  him  with  most  delicious  "  Yes  —  yes  "  and  with  little 
nods;  and  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  how  poignant 
to  him  was  the  sympathy  of  her  interest,  —  and  stopped. 
Thus  to  pour  out,  thus  to  be  heard,  was  to  experience 
the  exquisite  pain  that  comes  with  sudden  relief  of  intol 
erable  pain,  as  when  an  anodyne  steals  through  the  veins 
of  torture.  He  stopped.  He  could  not  bear  it. 

"  Well,  that 's  all,"  he  said. 

She  declared,  "  It 's  splendid.  How  well  you  're  do 
ing,  Marko.  I  knew  you  would."  She  paused.  "  Not 
that  that  matters,"  she  said. 

He  asked  her,  "  What  do  you  mean  —  '  not  that  that 
matters  '  ?  " 

She  made  a  little  face  at  him,  "  Marko,  you  're  not 
to  snap  me  up  like  that.  I  've  noticed  it  two  or  three 
times.  I  mean  it  does  n't  matter  what  a  man  does. 
It 's  what  he  is  that  matters." 

He  laughed.  "  Well,  that  lets  me  down  pretty  badly 
if  that 's  the  estimate.  I  'm  awful,  you  know." 

She  shook  her  head.     "  Oh,  you  're  not  so  bad." 


IF     WINTER    COMES  143 

"  You  don't  know  nie.  I  've  been  growing  awful  these 
years." 

"  Tell  me  how  awful  you  are.  Does  Mabel  think 
you  're  awful  ?  " 

"  You  ask  her!  I  'm  the  most  unsatisfactory  sort  of 
person  it 's  possible  to  meet.  Really/' 

"  Go  on;  tell  me,  Marko.     I  like  this." 

"  What,  like  hearing  how  unsatisfactory  I  am?  " 

"  I  like  hearing  you  talk.  You  've  got  rather  a  nice 
voice  —  I  used  to  tell  you  that,  did  n't  I  ?  —  and  I  like 
hearing  you  stumbling  about  trying  to  explain  your  ideas. 
You  've  got  ideas.  You  're  rather  an  ideary  person. 
Go  on.  Why  are  you  unsatisfactory?" 

How  familiar  her  voice  was  on  that  note,  —  caressing, 
drawing  him  on. 

He  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you,  Nona.  I  'm  unsatisfactory  be 
cause  I  've  got  the  most  infernal  habit  of  seeing  things 
from  about  twenty  points  of  view  instead  of  one.  For 
other  people,  that  Js  the  most  irritating  thing  you  can 
possibly  imagine.  I  Ve  no  convictions ;  that 's  the 
trouble.  I  swing  about  from  side  to  side.  I  always  can 
see  the  other  side  of  a  case,  and  you  know,  that 's  abso 
lutely  fatal  —  " 

She  said  gently,  "  Fatal  to  what,  Marko  ?  " 

He  was  going  to  say,  "  To  happiness  " ;  but  he  looked  at 
her  and  then  looked  away.  "Well,  to  everything;  to 
success.  You  can't  possibly  be  successful  if  you  have  n't 
got  convictions  —  what  I  call  bald-headed  convictions. 
That 's  what  success  is,  Nona,  the  success  of  politicians 
and  big  men  whose  names  are  always  in  the  papers.  It 's 
that :  seeing  a  thing  from  only  one  point  of  view  and 
going  all  out  for  it  from  that  point  of  view.  Convic 
tions.  Not  mucking  about  all  round  a  thing  and  seeing 
it  from  about  twenty  different  sides  like  I  do.  You 
know,  you  can't  possibly  pull  out  this  big,  booming  sort 


144  IF    WINTER    COMES 

of  stuff  they  call  success  if  you  're  going  to  see  anybody's 
point  of  view  but  your  own.  You  must  have  convic 
tions.  Yes,  and  narrower  than  that,  not  convictions 
but  conviction.  Only  one  conviction  —  that  you  're 
right  and  that  every  one  who  thinks  differently  from  you 
is  wrong  to  blazes."  He  laughed.  "  And  I  'm  dashed 
if  I  ever  think  I  'm  right,  let  alone  conviction  of  it.  I 
can  always  see  the  bits  of  right  on  the  other  side  of  the 
argument.  That 's  me.  Dash  me !  " 

She  said,  "  Go  on,  Marko.     I  like  this." 

"Well,  that's  all  there  is  to  it,  Nona.  These  con 
viction  chaps,  these  booming  politicians  and  honours- 
list  chaps,  these  Bagshaw  chaps  —  you  know  Bagshaw  ? 
—  they  go  like  a  cannon  ball.  They  go  like  hell  and 
smash  through  and  stick  when  they  get  there.  My  sort 's 
like  the  footballs  you  see  down  at  the  school  punt-about. 
Wherever  there  's  a  punt  I  feel  it  and  respond  to  it.  My 
sort's  out  to  be  kicked — "  He  laughed  again.  "  But 
I  could  n't  be  any  other  sort." 

She  said,  "  I  'm  glad  you  could  n't  be,  Marko.  You  're 
just  the  same  as  you  used  to  be.  I  'm  glad  you  're  the 
same." 

He  did  not  reply. 

VII 

She  sat  briskly  forward  in  the  big  armchair  in  which 
she  faced  him,  making  of  the  motion  a  movement  as 
though  throwing  aside  a  turn  the  conversation  had  taken. 
"  Well,  go  on,  Marko.  Go  on  talking.  I  'm  not  going 
to  let  you  stop  talking  yet.  I  love  that  about  how  people 
get  success  nowadays.  It 's  jolly  true.  I  never  thought 
of  it  before.  Yes,  you  're  still  a  terribly  thinky  person, 
Marko.  Go  on.  Think  some  more.  Out  loud." 

Caressing : —  drawing  him  on  —  just  as  of  old. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  145 

He  said  thoughtfully,  "  I  tell  you  a  thing  I  often  think 
a  lot  about,  Nona.  You  being  here  like  this  puts  it  in 
my  mind.  Conventions." 

She  smiled  teasingly.  "  Ah,  poor  Marko.  I  knew 
you  'd  simply  hate  it,  my  coming  in  like  this.  Does  it 
seem  terribly  unconventional,  improper,  to  you,  shut  up 
with  me  in  your  office?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  seems  very  nice.  That 's  all 
it  seems.  But  it  does  bring  into  my  mind  that  you  're 
the  sort  of  person  that  does  n't  think  tuppence  about 
what 's  usually  done  or  what 's  not  usually  done ;  and 
that  reminded  me  of  things  I  've  thought  about  conven 
tions.  Look  here,  Nona,  tfos  really  is  rather  interest 
ing—" 

'  Yes,"  she  said.     "  Yes." 

Just  so  he  used  to  bring  ideas  to  her ;  just  so,  with  "  Yes 
—  yes,"  she  used  to  receive  them. 

But  he  went  on.  "  Why,  convention,  you  know,  it 's 
the  most  mysterious,  extraordinary  thing.  It 's  a  code 
society  has  built  up  to  protect  itself  and  to  govern  itself, 
and  when  you  go  into  it  it 's  the  most  marvellous  code 
that  ever  was  invented.  All  sorts  of  things  that  the  law 
does  n't  give,  and  could  n't  give,  our  conventions  shove 
in  on  us  in  the  most  amazing  way.  And  all  probably 
originated  by  a  lot  of  Mother  Grundy-ish  old  women, 
that 's  what 's  so  extraordinary.  You  know,  if  all  the 
greatest  legal  minds  of  all  the  ages  had  laid  themselves  out 
to  make  a  social  code  they  could  never  have  got  anywhere 
near  the  rules  the  people  have  built  up  for  themselves. 
And  that 's  what  I  like,  Nona  —  that 's  what  I  think  so 
interesting  and  the  best  thing  in  life :  the  things  the  people 
do  for  themselves  without  any  State  interference.  That 's 
what  I  'd  encourage  all  I  knew  how  if  I  were  a  politi 
cian— " 

He  broke  off.     "  I  say,  are  n't  I  the  limit,  gassing 


146  IF    WINTER    COMES 

away  like  this?     I  hardly  ever  get  off  nowadays  and 
when  I  do !  —  Why  don't  you  stop  me  ?  " 

She  made  a  little  gesture  deprecatory  of  his  suggestion. 
"  Because  I  like  to  hear  you.  I  like  to  watch  your  funny 
old  face  when  you're  on  one  of  your  ideas.  It  gets 
red  underneath,  Marko,  and  the  red  slowly  comes  up. 
Funny  old  face!  Go  on.  I  want  to  hear  this  because 
I  'm  going  to  disagree  with  you,  I  think.  I  think  con 
ventions,  most  of  them,  are  odious,  hateful,  Marko.  I 
.hate  them." 

VIII 

He  had  been  strangely  affected  by  the  words  of  her 
interruptions  :  a  contraction  in  the  throat,  —  a  twitching 
about  the  eyes  .  .  .  But  he  was  able,  and  glad  that  he 
was  able  to  catch  eagerly  at  her  opinion.  :*  Yes,  yes,  I 
know,  odious,  hateful,  and  much  more  than  that,  cruel  — 
conventions  can  be  as  cruel,  as  cruel  as  hell.  I  was  just 
coming  to  that.  But  they  're  all  absolutely  rightly  based, 
Nona.  That 's  the  baffling  and  the  maddening  part  of 
them.  That 's  what  interests  me  in  them.  In  their  ap 
plication  they  're  often  unutterably  wrong,  cruel,  hide 
ously  cruel  and  unjust,  but  when  you  examine  them,  even 
at  their  cruellest,  you  can't  help  seeing  that  fundamentally 
they  're  absolutely  right  and  reasonable  and  necessary. 
Look,  take  quite  a  silly  example.  There  's  a  convention 
against  going  to  church  in  any  but  your  best  clothes. 
It 's  easy  to  conceive  wrongness  in  the  application  of  it. 
It 's  easy  to  conceive  a  person  wanting  to  go  to  church 
and  likely  to  benefit  by  going  to  church,  but  staying  away 
because  of  feeling  too  shabby.  But  you  can't  help  see 
ing  the  Tightness  at  the  bottom  of  it  —  the  idea  of  pre 
senting  yourself  decently  at  worship,  as  before  princes. 
That  makes  you  laugh  —  " 


IF   WINTER    COMES  147 

"  It  does  n't,  Marko.  I  can  see  much  worse  things 
just  on  the  same  principle." 

He  said  pleasedly,  "  Of  course  you  can,  can't  you? 
Look  at  all  this  stuff  there  's  been  in  the  papers  lately 
about  what  they  call  the  problem  of  the  unmarried 
mother.  Now  there  's  a  brute  of  a  case  for  you :  a  girl 
gets  into  trouble  and  while  she  sticks  to  her  baby  she  's 
made  an  outcast;  every  door  is  shut  to  her;  her  own 
people  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  her;  no  one  will  take 
her  in  —  so  long  as  she  's  got  the  baby  with  her.  That 's 
convention  and  you  can  imagine  cases  where  it 's  cruel 
beyond  words.  But  it 's  no  good  cursing  society  about  it. 
You  can't  help  seeing  that  the  convention  is  funda 
mentally  right  and  essential.  Where  on  earth  would 
you  be  if  girls  with  babies  could  find  homes  as  easily 
as  girls  without  babies?"  He  smiled.  :{  You  'd  have 
babies  pouring  out  all  over  the  place.  See  it  ?  " 

She  nodded.  "  I  do  think  that 's  interesting,  Marko. 
I  think  that 's  most  awfully  interesting.  Yes,  cruel  and 
hateful  and  preposterous,  many  of  them,  but  all  funda 
mentally  right.  I  think  that 's  absorbing.  I  shall  look 
out  for  conventions  now,  and  when  they  annoy  me  most 
I  '11  think  out  what  they  're  based  on.  I  will !  " 

"  Well,  it 's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  said.  "  It  helps  in  all 
sorts  of  ways  to  think  things  out  as  they  happen  to  you. 
You  don't  realise  what  a  mysterious  business  life  is  till 
you  begin  to  do  that;  and  once  you  begin  to  feel  the 
mysteriousness  of  it  there  's  not  much  can  upset  you. 
You  get  the  feeling  that  you  're  part  of  an  enormous, 
mysterious  game,  and  you  just  wonder  what  the  last 
move  means.  Eh?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

Presently  she  said,  "  Yes,  you  do  still  think  things, 
Marko.  You  have  n't  changed  a  bit,  you  know.  You  're 
just  the  same." 


148  IF   WINTER    COMES 

He  smiled.     "  Oh,  well,  it 's  only  two  years,  you  know 
—  less  than  two  years  since  you  went  away." 
"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  two  years." 
"  How  many  years  were  you  thinking  of  ?  " 
"  Ten." 
They  just  sat  there. 

IX 

The  insistent  shrieking  of  a  motor  siren  in  the  street 
below  began  to  penetrate  their  silence.  When  it  came 
to  Sabre's  consciousness  he  had  somehow  the  feeling  that 
it  had  been  going  on  a  very  long  time.  He  jumped  to 
his  feet.  The  siren  had  the  obscene  and  terrific  note  of 
a  gigantic  hen  in  delirium.  "  What  the  devil's  that?" 

She  received  his  question  with  the  blank  look  of  one 
whose  mind  had  no  idea  of  the  question's  reason.  The 
strangled  gurgle  and  shriek  from  without  informed  her 
in  paroxysms  of  hideous  sound.  With  a  motion  of  her 
body,  as  of  one  shaking  off  dreams,  she  threw  away  the 
be-musement  in  which  she  had  sat.  She  screwed  up  her 
face  in  torture.  "Oh,  wow!  Isn't  it  too  awful! 
That's  Tony.  In  the  car.  I  told  him  I'd  look  in 
here."  She  glanced  at  the  clock.  "Marko;  it's  one 
o'clock.  I  've  been  here  two  mortal  hours !  " 

The  gigantic  hen  screamed  in  delirious  death  agony. 

"  Oh,  good  heavens,  that  noise !  "  She  stepped  to  the 
window  and  opened  the  casement.  :<  Tony !  That 
noise !  Tony,  for  goodness'  sake !  " 

An  extravagantly  long  motor  car  was  drawn  against 
the  curb.  Lord  Tybar,  in  a  dust  coat  and  a  sleek  bowler 
hat  of  silver  grey,  sat  in  the  driver's  seat.  He  was  indus 
triously  and  without  cessation  winding  the  handle  of 
the  siren.  An  uncommonly  pretty  woman  sat  beside 
him.  She  was  massed  in  furs.  In  her  ears  she  held 


IF   WINTER    COMES  149 

the  index  finger  of  each  hand,  her  elbows  sticking  out  on 
each  side  of  her  head.  Thus  severally  occupied,  she 
and  Lord  Tybar  made  an  unusual  picture,  and  a  not  in 
considerable  proportion  of  the  youth  and  citizens  of  Tid- 
borough  stood  round  the  front  of  the  car  and  enjoyed  the 
unusual  picture  that  they  made. 

The  spectators  looked  up  at  Nona's  call;  Lord  Tybar 
ceased  the  handle  and  looked  up  with  his  engaging  smile; 
the  uncommonly  pretty  woman  removed  her  fingers  from 
her  ears  and  also  turned  upwards  her  uncommonly  pretty 
face. 

"  Hullo !  "  called  Lord  Tybar.  "  Did  you  happen  to 
hear  my  sighs  ?  " 

"  That  appalling  noise ! "  said  Nona.  "  You  ought  to 
be  prosecuted !  " 

"If  you'd  had  it  next  to  you!"  piped  the  uncom 
monly  pretty  lady  in  an  uncommonly  pretty  voice.  "  It 's 
like  a  whole  ship  being  seasick  together." 

"  It 's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  protested  Lord  Tybar. 
"  It 's  the  plaintive  lament  of  a  husband  entreating  his 
wife."  He  directed  his  eyes  further  backward.  "  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Fortune.  Did  you  recognize  my  voice 
calling  my  wife?  There  were  tears  in  it.  Perhaps  you 
did  n't." 

"  Good  lord,"  said  Sabre,  "  there's  old  Fortune  at  his 
window.  I  '11  come  down  with  you,  Nona." 

As  they  went  down  he  asked  her,  "  Who  's  that  with 
him  in  the  car?  " 

"  One  of  his  friends.     Staying  with  us." 

Something  in  her  voice  made  it  —  afterwards  —  oc 
cur  to  him  as  odd  that  she  spoke  of  one  of  "  his  ",  not 
one  of  "  our  "  friends,  and  did  not  mention  her  name. 

"  Well,  the  whole  of  Tidborough  knows  where  you  've 
been,  Nona,"  Lord  Tybar  greeted  them.  "  And  a  good 
place  too."  He  addressed  the  lady  by  his  side.  "  Puggo, 


150  IF    WINTER    COMES 

look  at  those  pulpits  and  things  in  the  window.  You 
never  go  to  church.  It  '11  do  you  good.  That 's  a  pul 
pit,  that  tall  thing.  They  preach  from  that." 

The  lady  remarked,  "  Thanks.  I  can  remember  it. 
At  least  I  was  married  in  a  church,  you  know." 

"  And,  of  course,"  said  Nona,  "  you  always  remember 
you  're  married,  don't  you?  " 

Sabre  glanced  quickly  at  her.  Her  tone  cut  across  the 
frivolous  exchanges  with  an  acid  note.  So  utterly  un 
like  Nona ! 

And  the  thing  was  real,  not  imagined;  and  went  fur 
ther.  The  uncommonly  pretty  woman  addressed  as 
Puggo  replied,  "  Oh,  always.  And  so  do  you,  don't  you, 
dear  ?  "  and  her  uncommonly  pretty  eyes  went  in  a  quick 
glance  from  Nona's  face  to  Sabre's,  where  they  hovered 
the  fraction  of  a  moment,  and  thence  to  Lord  Tybar's 
where  also  they  hovered,  and  smiled. 

And  Lord  Tybar,  his  small,  handsome  head  slightly 
on  one  side,  looked  from  one  to  another  with  precisely 
that  mock  in  his  glance  that  Sabre  had  noticed,  and 
transiently  wondered  at,  on  the  day  he  had  met  them 
riding. 

Funny ! 

"  But,  Puggo,  you  don't  know  Sabre,  do  you?  "  Lord 
Tybar  said.  "  Sabre,  this  is  Mrs.  Winfred.  A  woman 
of  mystery.  One  mystery  is  how  she  ever  won  Fred  and 
the  other  why  she  is  called  Puggo.  There  must  be  some 
thing  pretty  dark  in  her  past  to  have  got  her  a  name  like 
Puggo." 

The  woman  of  mystery  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Of 
course  Tony 's  simply  a  fool,"  she  observed.  "  You 
know  that,  don't  you,  Mr.  Sabre?" 

"  It 's  not  her  face,"  Lord  Tybar  continued.  "  You 
might  think  it 's  her  figure  the  way  she  hides  it  up  under 
all  those  furs  on  a  day  like  this.  But  a  pug's  figure  —  " 


IF    WINTER    COMES  151 

Nona  broke  in.  "I  suppose  we  're  going  to  start  some 
time?" 

"Will  you  come  and  sit  here?"  Puggo  inquired,  but 
without  making  any  movement. 

"  No,  I  '11  sit  behind." 

She  got  in.  "  Good-by,  Marko."  Her  voice  sounded 
tired.  She  gave  Sabre  her  hand.  "  Jolly,  the  books," 
she  said.  "  And  our  talk." 

"  Now  throw  yourself  in  front,  any  boy  who  wants 
to  be  killed,"  Lord  Tybar  called  to  the  idlers.  "  No 
corpses  to-day?"  He  let  in  the  clutch.  "Good-by, 
Sabre.  Good-by,  good-by."  He  waved  his  hand  airily. 
The  big  car  slid  importantly  up  the  street. 

Sabre  watched  them  pass  out  of  sight.  As  the  car 
turned  out  of  The  Precincts  into  High  Street  —  a  nasty 
corner  —  Lord  Tybar,  alone  of  the  three,  one  hand  on 
the  steering  wheel,  half  turned  in  his  seat  and  twirled  the 
silver-grey  bowler  in  gay  farewell. 

Or  mockery  ? 


Through  the  day  Sabre's  thoughts,  as  a  man  sorting 
through  many  documents  and  coming  upon  and  retaining 
one,  fined  down  towards  a  picture  of  himself  alone  with 
Nona  —  alone  with  her,  watching  her  beautiful  face  — • 
and  saying  to  her :  "  Look  here,  there  were  three  things 
you  said,  three  expressions  you  used.  Explain  them, 
Nona." 

Fined  down  towards  this  picture,  sifting  the  docu 
ments. 

He  thought,  "  Tybar  —  Tybar. —  They  're  just  alike 
in  their  way  of  saying  things,  Nona  and  Tybar.  That 
bantering  way  they  talk  when  they  're  together  —  when 
they  're  together.  Tybar  does,  whoever  he  's  with.  Not 


152  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Nona.  Not  with  me.  But  with  Tybar.  She  plays  up 
to  him  when  they  're  together.  And  he  plays  up  to  her. 
Everybody  says  how  amusing  they  are.  They  're  per 
fectly  suited.  They  look  so  dashed  handsome,  the  pair 
of  them.  And  always  that  bantering  talk.  Nona  chose 
deliberately  between  Tybar  and  me.  I  know  she  did. 
She  loved  me,  till  he  came  along.  It's  old.  Ten  years 
old.  I  can  look  at  it.  She  chose  deliberately.  I  can  see 
her  choosing :  '  Tybar  or  Marko  ?  —  oh,  dash  it,  Tybar/ 
And  she  chose  right.  She  's  just  his  mate.  He  's  just 
her  mate.  They  're  a  pair.  That  bantering,  airy  way  of 
theirs  together.  That 's  just  characteristic  of  the  one 
ness  of  their  characters.  I  could  n't  put  up  that  banter 
ing  sort  of  stuff.  I  never  could.  I  'm  a  jolly  sight  too 
serious.  And  Nona  knew  it.  She  used  to  laugh  at  me 
about  it.  She  still  does.  '  You  puzzle,  don't  you, 
Marko?  '  she  said  this  very  morning." 

He  thought,  "  No,  that  was  n't  laughing  at  me.  Not 
that.  No,  it  was  n't.  Not  that  —  nor  any  of  it.  What 
did  she  mean  when  she  said  '  There ! '  like  that  when  she 
gave  me  her  hand  when  she  first  came  in  ?  And  took  off 
her  glove  first.  What  did  she  mean  when  she  said  she 
had  to  come  ?  '  Well,  I  had  to  come,'  she  said.  —  What 
did  she  mean  when  she  said  she  was  flotsam?  —  Flotsam! 
Why?  Made  me  angry  in  my  voice  when  I  asked  her. 
I  said,  *  How  can  you  be  flotsam  ?  '  And  how  the  devil 
can  she  ?  —  Nona,  with  Tybar,  flotsam  ?  But  she  said  it. 
I  said,  '  How  can  you  be  flotsam,  the  life  you  've  — - 
taken  ?  '  I  did  n't  mean  to  say  '  taken  '  like  that.  I 
meant  to  have  said  '  the  life  you  've  got,  you  live.'  But 
I  meant  taken,  chosen.  She  did  take  it,  deliberately. 
She  chose  between  us.  I  might  almost  have  heard  her 
choose  'Marko  or  Tybar?  Oh,  dash  it  —  Tybar/  I 
never  reproached  her,  not  by  a  look.  I  saw  her  point  of 
view.  My  infernal  failing,  even  then.  Not  by  a  look 


IF   WINTER    COMES  153 

I  ever  reproached  her.  I  thought  I  'd  forgotten  it,  ab 
solutely.  But  I  have  n't.  It  came  out  in  that  moment 
that  I  haven't.  'The  life  you've  —  taken!'  I  meant 
it  to  sting.  Damn  me,  it  did  sting.  That  look  she  gave ! 
As  if  I  had  struck  her.  —  What  rot !  How  could  it  sting 
her?  How  could  she  mind?  Only  if  she  regretted. — * 
Is  it  likely?" 

He  thought,  "  But  is  she  happy  ?  Is  it  all  what  it  ap 
pears  between  them?  That  remark  she  made  to  that 
woman  and  the  extraordinary  way  she  said  it.  *  You 
never  forget  you  're  married,  do  you  ?  '  Amazing  thing 
to  say,  the  way  she  said  it.  What  did  she  mean?  And 
that  woman.  She  said  something  like,  '  Nor  you,  do 
you  ?  '  and  looked  at  me  and  then  at  Tybar.  And  Tybar 
looked  —  at  Nona,  at  me,  as  if  he  'd  got  some  joke,  some 
mock.  .  .  ." 

He  thought,  "  What  rot !  She  chose.  She  knew  he 
was  her  sort.  She  knew  I  was  n't.  She  chose  deliber 
ately.  .  .  ." 

Clearly,  as  it  were  yesterday,  he  remembered  the  day 
she  had  declared  to  him  her  choice.  In  the  Cathedral 
cloisters.  Walking  together.  And  suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  indifferent  things,  she  told  him,  "  I  say,  Marko, 
I  'm  going  to  marry  Lord  Tybar." 

And  his  reply,  the  model  of  indifference.  "  Are  you, 
Nona?" 

Nothing  else  said  of  it  between  them.  There  would 
certainly  have  been  more  discussion  if  she  had  said  she 
was  going  to  buy  a  packet  of  hairpins.  And  his  thought 
had  immediately  been,  not  this  nor  that  nor  the  other  of 
a  hundred  thoughts  proper  to  a  blow  so  stunning,  but 
merely  and  immediately  and  precisely  that  he  would  tell 
his  father  Yes  to  what  that  very  morning  he  had  told 
him  No,  —  that  he  would  go  into  the  Fortune,  East  and 
Sabre  business.  Extraordinary  effect  from  such  a  cause ! 


154  IF    WINTER   COMES 

Grotesque.  Paradoxical.  Going  into  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre  meant  "  settling  down  " ;  marriage  conven 
tionally  involved  settling  down ;  yet,  while  he  had  visioned 
marriage  with  Nona,  settling  down  had  been  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  to  think  of,  —  because  he  projected 
marriage  with  Nona,  he  had  that  very  morning  rejected 
settling  down.  He  was  not  to  marry  her ;  therefore,  yes, 
he  would  settle  down.  Amazing.  He  had  not  realised 
how  amazing  till  now. 

And  catastrophic.  Not  till  now  had  he  realised  to 
what  catastrophe  he  then  had  plunged.  He  thought, 
"  The  fact  was  Nona  touched  things  in  me  that  helped 
me.  Without  her  I  just  shut  down  —  I  just  go  about  — 
longing,  longing,  and  all  shut  up,  day  after  day,  year  after 
year  —  all  shut  up.  And  now  there  's  this  —  she  's 
come  back  like  this  —  " 

He  came  upon  the  picture  of  himself  alone  with  Nona 
-  alone  with  her  watching  her  beautiful  face  —  and 
saying  to  her,  "  Look  here,  there  were  three  things  you 
said,  three  expressions  you  used.  Explain  them,  Nona. 
Explain  '  There ! '  with  your  glove  off.  Explain  '  Flot 
sam.'  Explain  '  Well,  I  had  to  come.'  Explain  them, 
Nona —  for  God's  sake." 


CHAPTER   V 

I 

BUT  it  was  October  before  he  asked  her  to  explain 
them.  The  Tybars,  as  he  learnt  when  next  he  met  her, 
a  week  after  her  visit  to  the  office,  were  only  at  North- 
repps  for  a  breathing  space  after  their  foreign  tour. 
Through  the  summer  they  were  going  the  usual  social 
round,  ending  in  Scotland.  Back  in  October  for  the 
shooting,  and  wintering  there  through  the  hunting  season. 

So  she  told  him;  and  he  thought  while  she  was  speak 
ing,  "  All  right.  I  '11  accept  that.  That  helps  to  stop  me 
asking  her.  If  an  opportunity  occurs  before  she  goes 
I  '11  ask  her.  I  must.  But  if  it  does  n't  occur  I  '11  ac 
cept  that.  I  won't  make  an  opportunity." 

It  did  not  occur,  and  he  abode  by  his  resolution.  He 
met  her  once  or  twice,  always  in  other  company.  And 
she  was  always  then  particularly  gay,  particularly  airy, 
particularly  bantering.  But  answering  her  banter  he 
once  caught  an  expression  behind  her  airiness.  He 
thought,  "  It  is  a  shield  " ;  and  he  turned  away  abruptly 
from  her.  He  could  not  bear  it. 

This  was  on  the  occasion  of  a  little  dinner  party  at 
Northrepps  to  which  he  had  come  with  Mabel;  Major 
Hopscotch  Millet  and  one  or  two  others  were  among  the 
guests.  Major  Millet,  who  had  been  in  particularly  hop 
scotch,  Ri-te  0!  form  throughout  the  evening,  was 
walking  back,  but  Mabel  invited  him  to  accompany  them 
in  the  ancient  village  fly.  "Ri-te  01"  said  Major 
Millet  with  enormous  enthusiasm. 


156  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Nona  came  with  them  to  the  door  on  their  departure. 
Sabre  was  last  down  the  steps.  "  Well,  I  shan't  see  you 
again  till  October,"  she  said. 

"  No,  till  October."  He  no  more  than  touched  her 
hand  and  turned  away.  He  had  kept  his  resolution. 

She  was  close  behind  him.  He  heard  her  give  the 
tiniest  little  catch  at  her  breath.  She  said,  "  Shall  I 
write  to  you,  Marko  ?  " 

He  turned  towards  her.  She  was  smiling  as  though 
it  was  a  chaffing  remark  she  had  made.  Her  shield! 

And  he  answered  her  from  behind  his  own  shield,  "  Oh, 
well,  I  'm  bad  at  letters,  you  know." 

But  their  eyes  met  with  no  shields  before  them;  and 
she  was  wounded,  for  he  just  caught  her  voice  as  he  went 
down  the  steps,  "  Oh,  Marko,  do  write  to  me !  " 

The  Ri-te  O  voice  of  the  Hopscotch.  "  Come  on, 
Sabre,  my  boy !  Come  on !  Come  on !  " 

He  got  into  the  cab.  Major  Millet  had  taken  the  seat 
next  Mabel.  "  Ri-te  O,  Cabby!  "  the  Hopscotch  hailed. 

As  the  horse  turned  with  the  staggering  motions 
proper  to  its  burden  of  years  and  infirmity,  Mabel  in 
quired,  "  What  was  Lady  Tybar  talking  to  you  about  all 
that  time?" 

He  said,  "  Oh,  just  saying  good-by." 

But  he  was  thinking,  "  That 's  a  fourth  question :  Why 
did  you  say,  '  Oh,  Marko,  do  write  to  me'  ?  Or  was  that 
the  answer  to  the  other  questions,  although  I  never  asked 
them?" 

II 

He  did  not  write  to  her.  But  in  October  a  ridiculous 
incident  impelled  afresh  the  urgent  desire  to  ask  her  the 
questions :  an  incident  no  less  absurd  than  the  fact  that 
in  October  Low  Jinks  knocked  her  knee. 

Mabel  spent  two  months  of  the  summer  on  visits  to 


IF   WINTER    COMES  157 

friends.  In  August  she  was  with  her  own  people  on 
their  annual  holiday  at  Buxton.  There  Sabre,  who  had 
a  fortnight,  joined  her.  It  happened  to  be  the  fortnight 
of  the  croquet  tournament,  and  it  happened  that  Major 
Millet  was  also  in  Buxton.  Curiously  enough  he  had 
also  been  at  Bournemouth,  whence  Mabel  had  just  come 
from  cousins,  and  they  had  played  much  croquet  there 
together.  It  was  projected  as  great  fun  to  enter  the 
Buxton  tournament  in  partnership,  and  Sabre  did  not  see 
a  great  deal  of  Mabel. 

It  was  late  September  when  they  resumed  life  together 
at  Penny  Green.  In  their  absence  the  light  railway  link 
ing  up  the  Garden  Home  with  Tidborough  and  Chovens- 
bury  had  been  opened  with  enormous  excitement  and 
celebration ;  and  Mabel  became  at  once  immersed  in  pay 
ing  calls  and  joining  the  activities  of  the  new  and  in 
tensely  active  community. 

Then  Low  Jinks  knocked  her  knee. 

The  knee  swelled  and  for  two  days  Low  Jinks  had  to 
keep  her  leg  on  a  chair.  It  greatly  annoyed  Mabel  to 
see  Low  Jinks  sitting  in  the  kitchen  with  her  leg  "  stuck 
out  on  a  chair."  She  told  Sabre  it  was  extraordinary 
how  "  that  class  of  person  "  always  got  in  such  a  horrible 
state  from  the  most  ridiculous  trifles.  "  I  suppose  I 
knock  my  knee  a  dozen  times  a  week,  but  my  knee  does  n't 
swell  up  and  get  disgusting.  You  're  always  reading  in 
the  paper  about  common  people  getting  stung  by  wasps, 
or  getting  a  scratch  from  a  nail,  and  dying  the  next  day. 
They  must  be  in  a  horrible  state.  It  always  makes  me 
feel  quite  sick." 

Sabre  laughed.  "  Well,  I  expect  poor  old  Low  Jinks 
feels  pretty  sick  too." 

"  She  enjoys  it." 

"  What,  sitting  there  with  a  knee  like  a  muffin  ?  I 
had  a  look  at  her  just  now.  Don't  you  think  she  might 


158  IF   WINTER    COMES 

have  one  of  those  magazines  to  read  ?  She  looks  pretty 
sorry  for  herself." 

Signs  of  "  flying  up."  "  You  have  n't  given  her  a 
magazine,  have  you?  " 

"  No  —  I  have  n't.  But  I  told  her  I  would  after 
dinner." 

"If  you  don't  mind  you  won't.  Rebecca  has  plenty 
to  occupy  her  time.  She  can  perfectly  well  clean  the 
silver  and  things  like  that,  and  she  has  her  sewing.  She 
has  upset  the  house  quite  enough  with  her  leg  stuck  out 
on  a  chair  all  day  without  reading  magazines." 

And  then  in  the  extraordinary  way  in  which  discus 
sions  between  them  were  suddenly  lifted  by  Mabel  on 
to  unsuspected  grievances  against  him,  Sabre  suddenly 
found  himself  confronted  with,  "  You  know  how  she 
hurt  her  knee,  I  suppose?  " 

He  knew  the  tone.     "  No.     My  fault,  was  it?  " 

"  Yes.  As  it  happens,  it  was  your  fault  —  to  do  with 
you." 

"  Good  lord !  However  did  I  manage  to  hurt  Low 
Jinks'sknee?" 

"  She  did  it  bringing  in  your  bicycle." 

He  thought,  "  Now  what  on  earth  is  this  leading  up 
to?"  During  the  weeks  of  his  separation  from  Mabel, 
thinking  often  of  Nona,  he  had  caused  himself  to  think 
from  her  to  Mabel.  His  reasoning  and  reasonable  habit 
of  mind  had  made  him,  finding  extraordinary  rest  in 
thought  of  Nona,  accuse  himself  for  finding  none  in 
thought  of  Mabel.  She  was  his  wife;  he  never  could  get 
away  from  the  poignancy  of  that  phrase.  His  wife  — 
his  responsibility  towards  her  —  the  old  thought,  eight 
<A  years  old,  of  all  she  had  given  up  in  exchanging  her  own 
\life  for  his  life  —  and  what  was  she  getting?  He  set 
himself,  on  their  reunion,  always  to  remember  the  ad 
vantage  he  had  over  her:  that  he  could  reason  out  her 


IF   WINTER    COMES  159 

attitude  towards  things ;  that  she  could  not,  —  neither 
his  attitude  nor,  what  was  more,  her  own. 

Now.  What  was  this  leading  up  to  ?  "  She  did  it 
bringing  in  your  bicycle."  Puzzling  sometimes  over  pas 
sages  with  Mabel  that  with  mysterious  and  surprising  sud 
denness  had  plunged  into  scenes,  he  had  whimsically  en 
visaged  how  he  had  been,  as  it  were,  led  blindfolded  to 
the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  then,  whizz!  sent  flying  over 
on  to  the  angry  crags  below. 

Bantering  protest  sometimes  averted  the  disaster. 
"  Well,  come  now,  Mabel,  that 's  not  my  fault.  That 
was  your  idea,  making  Low  Jinks  come  out  and  meet 
me  every  evening  as  if  the  old  bike  was  a  foam-flecked 
steed.  Was  n't  it  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  in  the  dark." 

Mysterious  manoeuvring!  But  he  felt  he  was  ap 
proaching  the  edge.  "  In  the  dark?  " 

"  Yes,  not  in  the  dark.  What  I  mean  is,  I  really  can 
not  imagine  why  you  must  keep  up  your  riding  all 
through  the  winter.  It  was  different  when  there  was 
no  other  way.  Now  the  railway  is  running  I  simply 
cannot  imagine  why  you  don't  use  it." 

"Well,  that's  easy  —  because  I  like  the  ride." 

:(  You  can't  possibly  like  riding  back  on  these  pitch 
dark  nights,  cold  and  often  wet.  That 's  absurd." 

"  Well,  I  like  it  a  jolly  sight  better  than  fugging  up  in 
those  carriages  with  all  that  gassing  crowd  of  Garden 
Home  fussers." 

And  immediately,  whizz!  he  went  over  the  edge. 

"  That's  just  it!"  Mabel  said.  And  he  thought, 
"Ah!" 

"  That 's  just  it.  And  of  course  you  laugh.  Why 
you  can't  be  friendly  with  people  like  other  men,  I  never 
can  imagine.  There  're  heaps  of  the  nicest  people  up 
at  the  Garden  Home,  but  from  the  first  you  've  set  your- 


160  IF    WINTER    COMES 

self  against  them.  Why  you  never  like  to  make  friends 
like  other  people !  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

They  were  at  dinner.  She  made  an  elaborate  business 
of  reaching  for  the  salt.  "If  you  ask  me,  it 's  because 
you  don't  think  they  're  good  enough  for  you." 

He  thought,  "  That 's  to  rouse  me.  I  'm  dashed  if 
I  'm  going  to  be  roused."  He  thought,  "  It 's  getting 
the  devil,  this.  There 's  never  a  subject  we  start  but 
we  work  up  to  something  like  this.  We  work  on  one 
another  like  acid  on  acid.  In  a  minute  she  '11  have  an 
other  go  at  it,  and  then  I  shall  fly  off,  and  then  there 
we  '11  be.  It 's  my  fault.  She  does  n't  think  out  these 
things  like  I  do.  She  just  says  what  comes  into  her  head, 
whereas  I  know  perfectly  well  where  we  're  driving  to, 
so  I  'm  really  responsible.  I  rile  her.  I  either  rile  her 
by  saying  something  in  trying  not  to  fly  off,  or  else  I 
let  myself  go,  and  off  I  fly,  and  we  're  at  it.  Acid  on 
acid.  It 's  getting  the  devil,  this.  But  I  'm  dashed  if 
I  '11  fly  off.  It 's  up  to  me." 

He  tried  in  his  mind  for  some  matter  that  would 
change  the  subject.  Extraordinary  how  hard  it  was  to 
find  a  new  topic  when  some  other  infernal  thing  hung 
in  the  air.  It  was  like,  in  a  nightmare,  trying  with 
leaden  limbs  to  crawl  away  from  danger. 

And  then  she  began : 

She  resumed  precisely  at  the  point  where  she  had  left 
off.  While  his  mind  had  journeyed  in  review  all  around 
and  about  the  relations  between  them,  her  mind  had  re 
mained  cumbrously  at  the  thought  of  her  last  words. 
There,  he  told  himself,  was  the  whole  difference  between 
them.  He  was  intellectually  infinitely  more  agile  (he 
did  not  put  it  higher  than  that)  than  she.  She  could  not 
get  away  from  things  as  he  could.  They  remained  in 
her  mind  and  rankled  there.  To  get  impatient  with 


IF    WINTER   COMES  161 

her,  to  proceed  from  impatience  to  loss  of  temper,  was 
flatly  as  cruel  as  to  permit  impatience  and  anger  with  one 
bedridden  and  therefore  unable  to  join  in  robust  exer 
cises.  He  thought,  "  I  '11  not  do  it." 

She  said,  actually  repeating  her  last  words,  "  Yes,  if 
you  ask  me,  it 's  because  you  don't  think  they  're  good 
enough  for  you.  As  it  happens,  there  're  all  sorts  of  par 
ticularly  nice  men  up  there,  only  you  never  take  the 
trouble  to  know  them.  And  clever  —  the  only  thing 
you  pretend  to  judge  by;  though  what  you  can  find 
clever  in  Mr.  Fargus  or  those  Perches  goodness  only 
knows.  There  're  all  sorts  of  Societies  and  Circles  and 
Meetings  up  there  that  I  should  have  thought  were  just 
what  would  have  attracted  you.  But,  no.  You  prefer 
that  pottering  Mr.  Fargus  with  his  childish  riddles  and 
even  that  young  Perch  without  spirit  enough  to  go  half  a 
yard  without  that  everlasting  old  mother  of  his — " 

It  was  longer  and  fiercer  than  he  had  expected.  He 
intercepted.  "  I  say,  Mabel,  what 's  the  point  of  all 
this,  exactly?" 

"  The  point  is  that  it  makes  it  rather  hard  for  me, 
the  way  you  go  on.  I  've  made  many,  many  friends  up 
at  the  Garden  Home.  Do  you  suppose  it  does  n't  seem 
funny  to  them  that  my  husband  is  never  to  be  seen,  never 
comes  near  the  place,  never  meets  their  husbands?  Of 
course  they  must  think  it  funny.  I  know  I  feel  it 
very  awkward." 

He  thought,  "Girding!  Sneering!  Can't  I  get  out 
of  this?"  Then  he  thought,  "Dash  it,  man,  it's  only 
just  her  way.  What  is  there  in  it?"  He  said,  "Yes, 
but  look  here,  Mabel,  we  started  at  my  riding  home  in 
the  dark  —  or  rather  at  old  Low  Jinks's  muffin  knee. 
Let 's  work  out  the  trouble  about  that." 

"  That 's  what  I  'm  talking  about.  I  think  it 's  ex 
traordinary  of  you  to  go  riding  by  yourself  all  through 


162  IF    WINTER    COMES 

the  winter  just  to  avoid  people  I  'd  like  you  to  be  friendly 
with.  I  ask  you  not  to  and  you  call  it  '  fugging  up  in 
railway  carriages  with  them.'  That  was  the  elegant  ex 
pression  you  used." 

"  Elegant."  That  was  the  word  Nona  had  said  she 
was  going  to  have  for  her  own. 

He  sat  up  in  his  chair.  He  was  glad  he  had  kept  his 
mind  detached  all  through  this  business.  He  was  going 
to  make  an  effort. 

He  said,  "  Well,  listen,  Mabel.  I  '11  explain.  This  is 
me  explaining.  Behind  this  fork.  I  see  what  you  mean. 
Perfectly  well.  I  'm  sorry.  I  'm  absolutely  rotten  at 
meeting  new  people.  I  always  have  been.  I  never 
seem  to  have  any  conversation.  They  always  think  I  'm 
just  a  fool  —  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  always  feel  in 
a  crowd.  But  apart  from  that.  You  've  no  idea  how 
much  I  enjoy  the  bike  ride.  I  would  n't  give  it  up  for 
anything.  I  've  tried  to  explain  to  you  sometimes.  It 
gets  me  away  from  things,  and  I  like  getting  away  from 
things.  I  feel  —  it 's  hard  to  explain  a  stupid  thing  like 
this  —  I  feel  as  if  I  were  lifted  out  of  things  and  able  to 
look  at  things  from  a  sort  of  other-world  point  of  view. 
It 's  jolly.  Don't  you  remember  I  suggested  to  you,  oh, 
years  ago,  when  we  were  first  —  when  we  first  came 
here,  suggested  you  might  ride  in  part  of  the  way  with  me 
of  a  morning,  and  told  you  the  idea  of  the  thing?  You 
did  n't  quite  understand  it  —  " 

She  pushed  back  her  chair.  "  I  don't  understand  it 
now,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  had  been  shining  as  they  shone  when  he  was 
interested  or  eager.  He  threw  himself  back  in  his  seat. 
"Oh,  well!" 

She  got  up.  She  said  in  a  very  loud,  very  thin  and 
edged  voice,  the  little  constrictions  on  either  side  of  her 
nose  extraordinarily  deep: 


IF  WINTER  COMES  163 

"  I  never  can  understand  any  of  your  ideas,  except 
that  no  one  else  ever  seems  to  have  them.  Except  your 
Fargus  friends  perhaps.  I  should  keep  them  for  them  if 
I  were  you.  Anyway,  all  I  wanted  to  say  I  've  said.  All 
I  wanted  to  say  was  that,  if  you  persist  in  riding  home  in 
the  dark,  I  really  cannot  allow  Rebecca  to  go  out  and 
bring  in  your  bicycle.  After  this  leg  of  hers  is  over,  if 
it  ever  is  over,  I  really  cannot  allow  it  any  more.  That 's 
all  I  wanted  to  say." 

She  left  the  room. 

He  began  to  fumble  with  extraordinary  intensity  in  the 
pocket  of  his  dinner  jacket  for  his  cigarette  case.  He 
could  feel  it,  but  his  fingers  seemed  all  thumbs.  He  got 
it  out  and  it  slipped  through  his  fingers  on  to  the  table. 
His  hands  were  shaking. 


CHAPTER    VI 
I 

A  DRAPER  occupied  the  premises  opposite  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre's.  On  the  following  afternoon,  just  before 
five  o'clock,  Sabre  saw  Nona  alight  from  her  car  and  go 
into  the  draper's.  He  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  de 
scended  into  the  street.  As  he  crossed  the  road  she  came 
out. 

"Hullo,  Marko!" 

"  Hullo.  Well,  there  's  evidently  one  woman  in  the 
world  who  can  get  out  of  a  draper's  in  under  an  hour. 
You  have  n't  been  in  a  minute." 

"  Did  you  see  me  go  in  ?  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  did  n't 
want  anything.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  making  up  my 
mind- 

"  Whether  to  come  in  and  see  me  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  What  about  having  some  tea  somewhere?  " 

"  I  think  that 's  a  good  idea." 

He  suggested  the  Cloister  Tea  Rooms.  She  spoke  to 
the  chauffeur  and  accompanied  him. 

II 

The  Cloister  Tea  Rooms  were  above  a  pastry  cook's  on 
the  first  floor  of  one  of  the  old  houses  in  The  Precincts. 
The  irregularly  shaped  room  provided  several  secluded 
tables,  and  they  took  one  in  a  remote  corner.  But  their 
conversation  would  have  suffered  nothing  in  a  more  cen- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  165 

tral  and  neighboured  situation.  Nona  began  some  ac 
count  of  her  summer  visitations.  Sabre  spoke  a  little  of 
local  businesses :  had  she  seen  the  new  railway  ?  Had 
she  been  round  the  Garden  Home  since  her  return  ?  But 
the  subjects  were  but  skirmishers  thrown  out  before 
dense  armies  of  thoughts  that  massed  behind;  met,  and 
trifled,  and  rode  away.  When  pretence  of  dragging  out 
the  meal  could  no  longer  be  maintained,  Nona  looked  at 
her  watch.  "  Well,  I  must  be  getting  back.  We  have  n't 
had  a  particularly  enormous  tea,  but  the  chauffeur  's  had 
none." 

Sabre  said,  "  Yes,  let 's  get  out  of  this."  It  was  as 
though  the  thing  had  been  a  strain. 

He  put  her  into  the  car.  She  was  so  very,  very  quiet. 
He  said,  "  I  Ve  half  a  mind  to  drive  up  with  you.  I  'd  like 
a  ride,  and  a  walk  back." 

She  said  the  car  could  run  him  back,  or  take  him 
straight  over  to  Penny  Green.  "  Yes,  come  along  up, 
Marko.  They  have  rather  fun  in  the  billiard  room  after 
tea." 

He  got  in  and  she  shared  with  him  the  heavy  fur  rug. 
"  Not  that  I  want  fun  in  the  billiard  room,"  he  said. 

She  asked  hirri  lightly,  "  Pray  what  can  we  provide  for 
you,  then?  " 

"  I  just  want  to  drive  up  with  you." 


Ill 


It  was  only  three  miles  to  Northrepps.  It  seemed  to 
Sabre  an  incredibly  short  time  before  a  turn  in  the  road 
fronted  them  with  the  park  gates.  And  they  had  not 
spoken  a  word !  He  said,  "  By  Jove,  this  car  travels ! 
I  '11  get  down  at  the  gates,  Nona.  I  'm  not  coming  in. 
I  want  the  walk  back." 


166  IF    WINTER   COMES 

She  made  no  attempt  to  dissuade  him.  She  leaned 
forward  and  called  to  the  chauffeur ;  but  as  the  car  began 
to  slow  down,  she  gave  a  little  catch  of  emotion  and  said, 
"  Well,  we  have  had  a  chatty  drive.  You  'd  betterv.change 
your  mind  and  come  along  up,  Marko." 

He  disengaged  the  rug  from  about  him.  "No,  I  think 
I  '11  get  out  here."  He  turned  towards  her.  "  Look 
here,  Nona.  Get  out  here  and  walk  up."  He  echoed  the 
little  sound  of  feeling  she  had  given,  pretended  laughter. 
"  It  will  do  you  good  after  that  enormous  tea."  . 

She  said  something  about  the  tea  being  too  enormous 
for  exertion. 

The  car  drew  up.  He  got  out  and  turned  to  her. 
"  Look  here.  Please  do." 

He  saw  the  colour  fade  away  upon  her  face.  "  What 
for?" 

"  To  talk."    It  was  all  he  could  say. 

She  put  away  the  rug  and  gave  him  her  hand.  Warm, 
and  she  said,  "  How  dreadfully  cold  your  hand  is!  Go 
on  and  get  your  tea,  Jeffries.  I  'm  going  to  walk  up." 

The  man  touched  his  cap.  The  car  slid  away  and 
left  them. 

IV 

They  were  within  the  gates.  It  had  been  a  dull  day. 
Evening  stood  mistily  far  up  the  long  avenue  of  the 
drive  and  in  the  distances  about  the  park  on  either  hand. 
Among  October's  massing  leaves,  a  small  disquiet  stirred. 
The  leaves  banked  orderly  between  their  parent  trunks. 
Sabre  noticed  as  a  curious  thing  how,  when  they  stirred, 
they  only  trembled  in  their  massed  formations,  not 
broke  their  ranks,  as  if  some  live  thing  ran  beneath  them. 

He  said,  "  Do  you  know  what  this  seems  to  me?  It 
seems  as  though  it  was  only  yesterday,  or  this  morning, 
that  you  came  to  see  me  at  the  office  and  we  talked. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  167 

Well,  I  want  it  to  be  only  yesterday.  I  want  to  go  on 
from  there." 

She  said,  "  Yes." 

He  hardly  could  hear  the  word.  He  looked  at  her. 
She  was  as  tall  as  he.  Not  least  of  the  contributions  to 
her  beauty  in  his  eyes  was  the  slim  grace  of  her  stature. 
But  her  face  was  averted ;  and  he  wanted  most  terribly  to 
see  her  face.  "  Stand  a  minute  and  look  at  me,  Nona." 
He  touched  her  arm.  "  I  want  to  see  your  face." 

She  turned  towards  him  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his 
eyes.  "  Oh,  what  is  it  you  want  to  say,  Marko  ?  " 

There  was  that  which  glistened  upon  her  lower  lids; 
and  about  her  mouth  were  trembling  movements ;  and  in 
her  throat  a  pulse  beating. 

He  said,  "  It 's  you  I  want  to  say  something.  I  want 
you  to  explain  some  things.  Some  things  you  said. 
Nona,  when  you  came  into  my  room  that  day  and  shook 
hands  you  said,  '  There ! '  when  you  gave  me  your  hand. 
You  took  off  your  glove  and  said,  '  There ! '  I  want  to 
know  why  you  said  '  There ! '  And  you  said,  '  Well,  I 
had  to  come/  And  you  said  you  were  flotsam.  And  that 
night  —  when  we  'd  been  up  to  you  —  you  said,  '  Oh, 
Marko,  do  write  to  me/  I  want  you  to  explain  what  you 
meant." 

She  said,  "  Oh,  how  can  you  remember  ?  " 

He  answered,  "  Because  I  remember,  you  must  ex 
plain." 

"  Please  let  me  sit  down,  Marko."  She  faltered  a 
little  laugh.  "  I  can  explain  better  sitting  down." 

A  felled  trunk  had  been  placed  against  the  trees  facing 
towards  the  parkland.  They  went  to  it  and  he  sat  be 
side  her.  She  sat  upright  but  bending  forward  a  little 
over  her  crossed  knees,  her  hands  clasped  on  them,  look 
ing  before  her  across  the  park. 

"  No,  you  must  look  at  me,"  he  said. 


168  IF   WINTER    COMES 

She  very  slowly  turned  her  body  towards  him.  He 
thought  her  most  beautiful  and  the  expression  of  her 
beautiful  face  was  most  terrible  to  him  in  all  his  emo 
tions. 


She  spoke  very  slowly ;  almost  with  a  perceptible  pause 
between  each  word.  She  said,  "  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  I 
said  *  flotsam  ',  did  n't  I  ?  If  I  explain  that  —  you  know 
what  flotsam  is,  Marko.  Have  you  ever  looked  it  up  in 
the  dictionary  ?  The  dictionary  says  it  terribly.  '  Goods 
shipwrecked  and  found  floating  on  the  sea.'  I  'm  twenty- 
eight,  Marko.  I  suppose  that 's  not  really  very  old.  It 
seems  a  terrible  age  to  me.  You  see,  you  judge  age  by 
what  you  are  in  contrast  with  what  you  were.  If  you  're 
very  happy  I  think  it  can't  matter  how  old  you  are.  If 
you  look  back  to  when  you  were  happy  and  then  come  to 
the  now  when  you  're  not,  it  seems  a  most  terrible  and 
tremendous  gulf  —  and  you  see  yourself  just  floating  — 
drifting  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  happy  years 
and  just  being  taken  along,  taken  along,  to  God  knows 
where,  God  knows  to  what."  She  put  out  the  palms  of 
her  hands  towards  where  misty  evening  banked  sombrely 
across  the  park.  "  That 's  very  frightening,  Marko." 

The  live  thing  ran  beneath  the  leaves  banked  at  their 
feet.  A  stronger  gust  came  in  the  air.  A  scattering  of 
leaves  clustered  together  and  moved  with  sudden  agita 
tion  across  the  sward  before  them;  paused  and  seemed 
to  be  trying  to  flutter  a  hold  into  the  ground;  rushed 
aimlessly  at  a  tangent  to  their  former  direction;  paused 
again;  and  again  seemed  to  be  holding  on.  Before  a 
sudden  gust  they  were  spun  helplessly  upward,  sported 
aloft  in  mazy  arabesques,  scattered  upon  the  breeze. 

"Those  leaves!"  she  said.  And  as  if  she  had  not 
made  the  interjection  she  went  on,  "  Most  awfully  fright- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  169 

ening.  Well,  all  the  time  there  was  you,  Marko.  You 
were  always  different  from  anybody  I  ever  knew.  Long 
ago  I  used  to  chaff  you  because  you  were  so  different. 
In  those  two  years  when  we  were  away  it  got  awful. 
In  those  two  years  I  knew  I  was  flotsam.  One  day  — 
in  India  —  I  went  and  looked  at  it  in  the  little  dictionary 
in  my  writing  case,  and  I  knew  I  was.  Do  you  know 
what  I  did?  I  crossed  out  flotsam  in  the  dictionary  and 
wrote  Nona.  There  it  was,  and  it  was  the  most  exact 
thing  — '  Nona :  goods  shipwrecked  and  found  floating 
in  the  sea/  I  meant  to  have  torn  out  the  page.  I  forgot. 
I  left  it  there  and  Tony  saw  it." 

Sabre  said,  "  What  did  he  say?  "  In  all  she  had  told 
him  there  was  something  omitted.  He  knew  that  his 
question  approached  the  missing  quantity.  But  she  did 
not  answer  it. 

She  went  on,  "  Well,  there  was  you.  And  I  began  to 
want  you  most  awfully.  You  were  always  such  a  dear, 
slow  person;  and  I  wanted  that  most  awfully.  You 
were  so  steady  and  good  and  you  had  such  quiet  old  ideas 
about  duty  and  rightness  and  things,  and  you  thought 
about  things  so,  and  I  wanted  that  most  frightfully. 
You  see,  I  'd  known  you  all  my  life — well,  that 's  how 
it  was,  Marko.  That  explains  all  the  things  you  asked. 
I  said  '  There  ' ;  and  I  said  I  had  to  come ;  because  I  'd 
wanted  it  so  much,  so  long.  And  I  wanted  you  to 
write  to  me  because  I  did  want  to  go  on  having  the  help 
I  had  from  you  —  " 

He  had  desired  her  to  look  at  him,  but  it  was  he  who 
had  turned  away.  He  sat  with  his  head  between  his 
hands,  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

She  repeated,  with  rather  a  plaintive  note,  as  though 
in  his  pos-e  she  saw  some  pain  she  had  caused  him,  "  You 
see,  I  had  known  you  all  my  life,  Marko  —  " 

He  said,  still  looking  upon  the  ground  between  his 


170  IF  WINTER  COMES 

feet,  "  But  you  have  n't  explained  anything.  You  Ve 
only  told  me.  You  have  n't  explained  why." 

She  said  with  astounding  simplicity,  "  Well,  you  see, 
Marko,  I  made  a  mistake.  I  made  a  most  frightful 
mistake.  I  chose.  I  chose  wrong.  I  ought  to  have 
married  you,  Marko." 

And  his  words  were  a  groan.     "  Nona  —  Nona  —  " 


CHAPTER    VII 

I 

HE  was  presently  walking  back,  returning  to  Tidbor- 
ough. 

He  was  trying  very  hard,  all  his  life's  training  against 
sudden  unbridling  of  his  bridled  passions,  to  grapple  his 
mind  back  from  its  wild  and  passionate  desires  and  from 
its  amazed  coursings  upon  the  immense  prairies,  teeming 
with  hazards,  fears,  enchantments,  hopes,  dismays,  that 
broke  before  this  hour  as  breaks  upon  the  hunter's 
gaze,  amazingly  awarded  from  the  hill,  savannas  bound 
less,  new,  unpathed,  —  from  these  to  grapple  back  his 
mind  to  its  schooled  thought  and  ordered  habit,  to  its 
well-trodden  ways  of  duty,  obligation,  rectitude.  He  had 
not  left  them.  But  for  that  cry  of  her  name  wrung  from 
him  by  sudden  application  of  pain  against  whose  shock 
he  was  not  steeled,  he  had  answered  nothing  to  her 
lamentable  disclosure.  This  which  he  now  knew,  these 
violent  passions  which  now  he  felt,  but  lit  for  him 
more  whitely  the  road  his  feet  must  take.  If  he  had  ever 
tried  consciously  to  see  his  life  and  Mabel's  from  Mabel's 
point  of  view,  now,  when  his  mind  threatened  disloyalty 
to  her,  he  must  try.  And  would !  The  old  habit,  the  old 
trick  of  seeing  the  other  side,  acted  never  so  strongly 
upon  him  as  when  unkindness  appeared  to  lie  in  his  own 
attitude.  Unkindness  was  unfairness  and  unfairness  was 
above  all  qualities  the  quality  he  could  not  tolerate.  And 
here  was  unfairness,  open,  monstrous,  dishonourable. 

Mabel  should  not  feel  it. 

But  he  was  aware,  he  was  informed  as  by  a  voice  in 


172  IF    WINTER    COMES 

his  ears,  "  You  have  struck  your  tents.     You  are  upon 
the  march." 

II 

He  approached  the  town.  The  school  lay  in  this 
quarter  and  his  way  ran  through  its  playing  fields  and 
its  buildings.  Nature  in  her  moods  much  fashioned  his 
thoughts  when  he  walked  the  countryside  or  rode  his 
daily  journey  on  his  bicycle.  He  now  carried  his  thoughts 
into  her  mood  that  stood  about  him,. 

Nature  was  to  him  in  October,  and  not  in  spring, 
poignantly  suggestive,  deeply  mysterious,  in  her  intense 
and  visible  occupation.  She  was  enormously  busy;  but 
she  was  serenely  busy.  She  was  stripping  her  house  of 
its  deckings,  dismantling  her  habitation  to  the  last  and 
uttermost  leaf;  but  she  stripped,  dismantled,  extin 
guished,  broke  away,  not  in  despair,  defeat,  but  in  or 
dered  preparation  and  with  exquisite  certitude  of  glory 
anew.  That,  in  October,  was  her  voice  to  him,  stirring 
tremendously  that  faculty  of  his  of  seeing  more  clearly, 
visioning  life  more  poignantly,  with  his  mind  than  with 
his  eye.  She  spoke  to  him  of  preparation  for  winter,  and 
beyond  winter  with  ineffable  assurance  for  spring,  bring 
winter  what  it  might.  He  saw  her  dismantling  all  her 
house  solely  to  build  her  house  again.  She  packed  down. 
She  did  not  pack  up,  which  is  confusion,  flight,  abandon 
ment.  She  packed  down,  which  is  resolve,  resistance,  hus 
bandry  of  power  to  build  and  burst  again;  and  burst 
again,  —  in  stout  affairs  of  outposts  in  sheltered  banks 
and  secret  nooks;  in  swift,  amazing  sallies  of  violet  and 
daffodil  and  primrose;  in  multitudinous  clamour  of  all 
her  buds  in  May ;  and  last  in  her  resistless  tide  and  flood 
and  avalanche  of  beauty  to  triumph  and  possession. 

That  was  October's  voice  to  him;  that  he  apprehended 
and  tingled  to  it,  as  the  essence  of  its  strange,  heavy 


IF    WINTER    COMES  173 

odours;  secret  of  its  veiling  mists;  whisper  of  its  mois 
ture-laden  airs;  song  of  its  swollen  ditches,  brooks  and 
runnels.  It  was  not  "  Take  down.  It  is  done."  It  was 
"  Take  down.  It  is  beginning." 

Mankind,  frail  parasite  of  doubt,  seeks  ever  for  a  sign, 
conceives  no  certainty  but  the  enormous  certitude  of 
uncertainty.  A  sign!  In  death:  "  Take  down,  then; 
but  leave  me  this  —  and  this  —  for  memory.  Perhaps 
—  who  knows  ?  —  it  may  be  true.  .  .  .  But  leave  me 
this  for  memory."  In  promise :  "  So  be  it,  then  —  but 
give  me  some  pledge,  some  proof,  some  sign."  Not  thus 
October.  October  spoke  to  Sabre  of  Nature's  sublime 
imperviousness  to  doubt;  of  her  enormous  certainty,  old 
as  creation,  based  in  the  sure  foundations  of  the  world. 
"  Take  down.  It  is  beginning." 

Sabre  used  to  think,  "  It  gets  you  —  terrifically.  It 's 
stupendous.  It 's  too  big  to  bear."  He  had  this  thought 
out  of  October :  "  You  can't,  can't  walk  along  lanes  or 
in  woods  in  October  and  see  all  this  mysterious  business 
going  on  without  knowing  perfectly  well  that  this  as 
tounding  certainty  must  apply  equally  to  human  life. 
I  'd  wish  the  death  of  any  one  I  loved  to  be  in  early 
autumn.  No  one  can  possibly  doubt  in  early  autumn. 
In  winter,  perhaps;  and  in  spring  and  in  summer  you 
can  know,  cynically,  it  will  pass.  But  in  October  —  no. 
Impossible  then.  And  not  only  death,  Life.  Life  as  one 
lives  it.  You  can't,  can't  feel  in  autumn  that  in  the  lowest 
depths  there  is  lower  yet.  You  only  can  feel,  knoiv,  that 
the  thing  will  break,  that  there  's  an  uplift  at  the  bottom 
of  it  all.  There  must  be." 

Ill 

Take  down :  it  is  beginning.  The  spirit  and  the  mes 
sage  of  the  season  (as  they  communicated  themselves  to 
him)  began,  as  opiate  among  enfevered  senses,  to  steal 


174  IF    WINTER    COMES 

about  his  thoughts.  Had  anything  happened  ?  His  feel 
ing  was  rather  that  he  was  at  the  beginning  of  some 
thing;  or  at  the  end  of  something,  which  was  the  same 
thing.  The  place  whereon  he  stood  entered  into  his 
thoughts.  He  had  left  the  main  road  and  was  skirting 
through  the  school  precincts.  He  was  crossing  The 
Strip,  historic  sward  whereon  were  played  the  First  XV 
football  matches.  Impossible  to  be  upon  The  Strip 
without  peopling  it  again  with  the  tremendous  battles 
that  had  been  here,  the  giants  of  football  who  here  had 
made  their  fame  and  the  school's  fame ;  the  crowded,  tu 
multuous  touch  lines;  the  silent,  tremendous  combat 
in  between.  Memories  came  to  him  of  his  own  two 
seasons  in  the  XV;  his  own  name  from  a  thousand 
throats  upon  the  wintry  air.  His  muscles  tautened  as 
again  he  fought  some  certain  of  those  enormous  moments 
when  the  whole  of  life  was  bound  up  solely  in  the  un 
speakable  necessity  to  win.  Astounding  trick  of  thought 
from  what  beset  him!  He  was  alone  upon  The  Strip, 
in  an  overcoat,  on  the  way  to  forty,  not  a  sound,  not  a 
soul,  and  with  that  brooding  sense  of  being  upon  the  edge 
and  threshold  of  something  vast,  dark,  threatening,  un 
fathomable. 

IV 

Down  the  steep  hill  flanked  by  masters'  houses.  Twi 
light  merging  now  into  darkness.  Boys  passing  in  and 
out  of  the  gateways.  Past  Telfer's  which  had  been  his 
own  house.  All  this  youth  was  preparing  for  life;  all 
these  houses  eternally,  generation  after  generation,  pour 
ing  boys  out  into  life  as  at  Shotley  iron  foundry  he  had 
seen  molten  metal  poured  out  of  a  cauldron.  And  every 
boy,  poured  out,  imagined  he  was  going  to  live  his  own 
life.  O  hapless  delusion!  Lo,  as  the  same  moulds 
awaited  and  confined  the  metal,  so  the  same  moulds 


IF  WINTER  COMES  175 

awaited  and  confined  the  living  stuff.  Mysterious  con 
ventions,  laws,  labours;  imperceptibly  receiving;  im 
placably  binding  and  shaping.  The  last  day  he  had  come 
down  the  steps  of  Telf  er's  —  jumped  down  —  how  dis 
tinctly  he  remembered  it!  It  was  his  own  life  he  was 
coming  down,  eagerly  jumping  down,  into.  —  Well,  here 
he  was,  passing  those  very  steps,  and  whose  life  was  he 
living?  Mabel's?  Old  Fortune's?  And  to  what  end? 

V 

Whose  life  was  Nona  living? 

He  had  asked  her,  "  Tell  me  about  you  and  Tybar." 

With  pitiable  gentleness  of  voice  she  had  approached 
that  quantity  which  had  been  missing  from  her  first 
statement  of  her  position.  And  she  had  done  tribute  to 
her  husband's  parts  with  generosity,  nay  with  pride. 
"  Tony  does  everything  better  than  any  one  else."  She 
had  said  it  on  that  occasion  of  their  first  reencounter;  its 
burthen  had  been  the  opening  of  her  recital  of  what  else 
she  had  for  him. 

"  Marko,  I  think  Tony  's  the  most  wonderful  person 
that  ever  was.  He  does  everything  that  men  do  and  he 
does  everything  best.  And  everybody  admires  him  and 
everybody  likes  him.  You  've  no  idea.  You  've  no  idea 
how  he  wins  everybody  he  meets.  People  will  do  any 
thing  for  him.  They  love  him.  Well,  you  've  only  got 
to  look  at  him,  have  n't  you  ?  Or  hear  him  talk  ?  I 
think  there  's  never  been  any  one  so  utterly  captivating 
as  Tony  is  to  look  at  and  to  hear." 

Most  engagingly,  with  such  words,  she  had  presented 
him:  one  that  passed  through  life  airily,  exquisitely; 
much  fairy-gifted  at  his  cradle  with  gifts  of  beauty, 
charm,  preeminence  in  all  he  touched;  knowing  no  care, 
knowing  no  difficulty,  knowing  no  obstacle,  or  danger,  or 


176  IF   WINTER   COMES 

fear,  or  illness,  or  fatigue,  or  anything  in  life  but  gay 
and  singing  things,  which  touching,  he  made  more  bright, 
more  tuneful  yet;  meeting  no  one,  of  whatever  age  or  de 
gree,  but  his  charm  was  to  that  age  or  degree  exactly 
touched;  captivating  all,  leading  all,  by  all  desired  in 
leadership.  Fortune's  darling! 

"And,  Marko,"  she  at  last  had  come  to.  "And 
Marko  —  this  is  the  word  —  graceless.  Utterly,  utterly 
graceless.  Without  heart,  Marko,  without  conscience, 
without  morals,  without  the  smallest  scrap  of  an  approach 
to  any  moral  principle.  Marko,  that 's  an  awful,  a 
wicked,  an  abominable  thing  for  a  wife  to  say  of  her 
husband.  But  he  would  n't  mind  a  bit  my  telling  you. 
Not  a  bit.  He  'd  love  it.  He  'd  laugh.  He  'd  utterly 
love  to  know  he  had  stung  me  so  much.  And  he  'd  ut 
terly  love  to  know  he  'd  driven  me  to  tell  you.  He  'd 
think  —  he  'd  love  like  anything  to  drive  me  to  do  awful 
things.  He  's  tried  —  especially  these  two  years.  He  'd 
love  to  be  able  to  point  a  finger  at  me  and  laugh  and  say, 
'  Ah !  Ha-ha !  Ah ! '  You  know,  he  has  n't  got  any 
feelings  at  all  —  love  or  hate  or  anything  else;  and  it 
simply  amuses  him  beyond  anything  to  arouse  feeling  in 
anybody  else.  There  have  been  women  all  the  time  we  Ve 
been  married  and  he  simply  amuses  himself  with  them 
until  he  's  tired  of  them,  and  until  the  next  one  takes  his 
fancy,  and  he  does  it  quite  openly  before  me,  in  my  house, 
and  tells  me  what  I  can't  see  before  my  own  eyes  just 
for  the  love  of  seeing  the  suffering  it  gives  me.  You 
saw  that  Mrs.  Winfred.  He 's  done  with  her  now. 
And  he  's  as  shameless  about  me  with  them  as  he  is  about 
them  with  me.  And  what  he  loves  above  all  is  the  way 
I  take  it;  and  I  can  take  it  in  no  other  way.  You  see  I 
won't,  I  simply  will  not,  Marko,  let  these  women  of  his 
see  —  or  let  any  one  in  the  world  suspect  —  that  I  — 
that  I  suffer.  So  when  we  are  together  before  people  I 


IF   WINTER   COMES  177 

keep  up  the  gay  way  we  always  show  together.  He 
loves  it ;  it 's  delicious  to  him,  because  it 's  a  game  played 
over  the  torture  underneath.  And  I  won't  do  any  other 
way,  Marko.  I  will  keep  my  face  to  the  world  —  I  won't 
have  any  one  pity  me." 

"  I  pity  you,"  he  had  said. 

"  Ah,  you  .  .  ." 

VI 

And  he  was  suddenly  shot  into  an  encounter  of  ex 
traordinary  incongruity  with  his  thoughts  and  of  extraor 
dinary  intensity.  A  voice  accosted  him.  He  was  as 
tounded,  as  if  suddenly  awakened  out  of  heavy  sleep,  to 
see  to  where  he  had  come.  He  was  in  the  narrow  old 
ways  of  Tidborough  Old  Town,  approaching  The  Pre 
cincts,  by  the  ancient  Corn  Exchange.  A  keen-looking 
young  man,  particularly  well  set  up  and  wearing  nice 
tweeds,  was  accosting  him.  Sabre  recognised  Otway, 
captain  and  adjutant  of  the  depot,  up  at  the  barracks,  of 
the  county  regiment,  one  of  the  crack  regiments,  famous 
as  "  The  Pinks." 

Otway  said,  "  Hullo,  Sabre.  How  goes  it?  Are  you 
going  to  this  show  to-morrow  ?  " 

He  was  pointing  with  his  stick  to  a  poster  displayed 
against  the  Corn  Exchange.  Sabre  read  it.  It  an 
nounced  that  Field  Marshal  Lord  Roberts  was  speaking 
there,  under  the  auspices  of  the  National  Service  League, 
on  Home  Defence  —  a  Citizen  Army. 

"  I  had  n't  thought  about  going,"  Sabre  said.  He 
wanted  to  get  away. 

Otway  was  staring  at  the  poster  as  though  he  had 
never  seen  it  before ;  but  he  had  been  staring  at  it  when 
Sabre  came  along  the  street.  "You  ought  to,"  Otway 
said.  :e  You  ought  to  hear  old  Bobs.  Of  course  the 
little  chap  's  all  wrong." 


178  IF   WINTER    COMES 

He  seemed  to  be  talking  to  himself,  staring  at  the 
poster,  more  than  to  Sabre.  Sabre,  despite  his  preoccu 
pation,  was  surprised.  "All  wrong?  Good  lord,  I 
should  have  thought  you  of  all  people  —  "  And  imme 
diately  a  torrent  of  Otway  was  let  loose  upon  him,  burst 
ing  into  his  thoughts  like  a  stone  chucked  through  a 
study  window. 

Otway  spun  around  in  his  keen,  quick  way  to  face  him. 
"  All  wrong  in  the  way  he  's  putting  his  case,  I  mean. 
All  these  National  Service  chaps  are.  Home  defence 
they  talk  about,  nothing  but  Home  Defence.  It 's  like 
chucking  sawdust  into  a  fire  —  the  fire  being  all  the 
bloody  fools  who  are  opposed  to  military  training.  Any 
fool  can  knock  the  bottom  out  of  this  Home  Defence 
business.  The  Blue  Water  fools  are  champions  at  it. 
They  say  the  only  defence  against  invasion  is  the  Navy 
and  that  half  a  million  spent  on  the  Navy  is  worth  un 
told  millions  chucked  away  on  this  *  Nation  in  Arms  ' 
shout.  And  they  're  damn  right." 

"  Well,  then?  "  said  Sabre.  "  What 's  the  argument? 
What 's  the  harm  in  knocking  the  bottom  out  of  — 
this?  "  he  nodded  towards  the  poster. 

Otway  spoke  with  astonishing  intensity.  "  Why, 
good  God  alive,  man,  don't  you  see,  we  do  want  a  nation 
in  arms;  we  want  it  like  hell.  But  we  don't  want  it  for 
here,  at  home;  we  want  it  to  fight  on  the  Continent. 
That 's  where  we  've  got  to  fight,  —  out  there.  And  that 's 
where  we  're  going  to  fight  before  we  're  many  years 
older." 

In  his  intensity  he  had  extended  his  left  hand  and  was 
beating  his  points  into  it  with  the  handle  of  his  stick. 
"See  that?" 

Sabre  was  not  in  the  mood  to  see  anything.  He  only 
wanted  to  be  away. 

"  No,  I  'm  dashed  if  I  do.     What  are  we  going  to 


IF   WINTER    COMES  179 

fight  on  the  Continent  for  —  supposing  we  ever  do  have 
to  fight  anywhere?  " 

The  stick  hammered  away  again.  "  Because  we  've 
got  obligations  there.  We  've  got  to  defend  Belgium, 
for  one.  And  if  we  had  n't  —  if  we  had  n't  any  obliga 
tions  we  'd  pretty  soon,  we  'd  damn  soon  find  them  as 
soon  as  ever  Germany  breaks  loose.  That 's  what  these 
National  Service  Johnnies  ought  to  tell  the  people,  that 's 
what  Bobs  ought  to  tell  them,  that 's  what  these  blasted 
politicians  ought  to  tell  them :  you  don't  want  National 
Service  to  defend  your  perishing  homes.  The  Navy  's  go 
ing  to  do  that.  You  want  it  like  hell  because  you  've  got 
to  defend  your  lives  —  out  there."  He  waved  his  stick  to 
wards  "  out  there."  "  My  God !  "  he  said.  He  was 
consumed  with  the  intensity  of  his  own  emotions.  "  My 
God!" 

Despite  himself,  Sabre  was  impressed.  The  man 
would  have  impressed  anybody.  His  eyes  were  extraor 
dinarily  penetrating.  There  actually  were  tiny  little 
points  of  perspiration  about  his  nose. 

"  I  never  thought  about  that,"  Sabre  said  doubtfully. 
"  I  never  thought  there  were  any  obligations.  I  doubt 
any  member  of  the  Government  would  admit  there  were 
any." 

"  I  know  damn  well  they  would  n't,"  Otway  declared. 
"  And  they  'd  be  helped  to  deny  it,  or  to  evade  it,  by  the 
howl  of  laughter  there  'd  be  in  the  Commons  if  any  one 
had  the  guts  to  get  up  and  ask  if  we  had  any  obligations. 
There  's  no  joke  goes  down  like  that  sort  of  joke.  Well 
—  "  His  manner  changed.  He  tucked  his  stick  under 
his  arm  and  took  out  a  silver  cigarette  case.  "  Cigarette  ? 
Well  —  they  '11  laugh  the  other  side  of  their  chuckle 
heads  one  of  these  days." 

Sabre  took  a  cigarette.  "  You  're  pretty  sure  there 's 
going  to  be  a  war,  are  n't  you  ?  " 


180  IF   WINTER    COMES 

The  extraordinary  man,  who  had  become  smiling  and 
airy,  immediately  became  extraordinary  again.  He  had 
struck  a  match,  held  it  to  Sabre's  cigarette,  and  was  ap 
plying  it  to  his  own.  He  extinguished  it  with  violent 
jerks  of  his  arm  and  dashed  it  on  to  the  pavement. 
"  Sure  ?  My  God,  sure  ?  I  tell  you,  Sabre,  you  won't 
be  five  years,  I  don't  believe  you  '11  be  two  years,  one 
year,  older  before  you  '11  not  only  be  sure  —  you  '11  know ! 
I  've  just  finished  a  course  at  the  Staff  College,  you  know. 
We  finished  up  with  a  push  over  to  Belgium  to  do  the 
battlefields.  We  went  into  Germany,  some  of  us.  They 
fed  us  in  some  of  their  messes.  Do  you  know,  those 
chaps  in  those  messes  there  talked  about  fighting  us  as 
naturally  and  as  certainly  as  you  talk  with  your  opponents 
about  a  coming  footer  match.  They  talked  about 
'  When  we  fight  you  '  —  not '  if  we  fight  you  '  —  '  when  ', 
as  if  it  was  as  fixed  as  Christmas.  And  they  did  n't  talk 
any  of  this  bilge  about  fighting  us  in  England ;  they  knew, 
as  I  know,  and  every  soldier  knows  —  every  soldier  who  's 
keen  —  that  it 's  going  to  be  out  there.  In  Europe." 
He  had  not  taken  two  puffs  at  his  cigarette  before  he 
wrenched  it  from  his  mouth  and  dashed  it  after  the 
match.  "  Sabre,  why  the  hell  are  n't  people  here  told 
that?  Why  are  they  stuck  up  with  this  rot  about  de 
fending  their  shores  when  they  can  see  for  themselves 
that  only  the  Navy  can  defend  their  shores?  What  are 
they  going  to  do  when  the  war  comes?  Are  they  going 
to  lynch  these  bloody  politicians  who  have  n't  told  them 
they  've  got  to  fight  for  their  lives  ?  Are  they  going  to 
turn  around  and  say  they  never  knew  it  so  they  '11  be 
damned  if  they'll  fight  for  their  lives?  Are  they  going 
to  follow  any  of  these  politicians  who  will  have  betrayed 
them  ?  Do  you  suppose  any  man  who  's  been  party  to 
this  betrayal  is  going  to  be  found  big  enough  to  run  a 
war  ?  I  tell  you  that 's  another  thing.  Do  you  suppose 


IF   WINTER   COMES  181 

a  chap  who 's  been  a  miserable  vote-snatcher  all  his  life 
is  going  to  turn  round  suddenly  and  be  a  heaven-sent  ad 
ministrator  in  a  war?  You  can  take  your  oath  Heaven 
does  n't  send  out  geniuses  on  that  ticket.  What  you  've 
lived  and  done  in  fat  times  —  that 's  what  you  're  going 
to  live  and  do  in  lean.  Heaven  's  chucked  stocking  divine 
fire." 

"  I  'm  with  you  there,"  Sabre  said.  He  did  not  believe 
half  this  intense  man  said,  but  he  conceived  a  sudden  and 
great  admiration  for  his  intensity.  And  he  had  had  no 
idea  that  a  soldier  ever  thought  so  far  away  from  his  own 
subject  —  which  was  sport  and  one  chance  in  a  million 
of  fighting  —  as  to  produce  aphorisms  on  habit  and  de 
velopment.  "  But  you  know,  Otway,"  he  said,  "  it 's 
jolly  hard  to  believe  all  this  inevitableness  of  war  stuff 
that  chaps  like  you  put  up.  Do  you  read  the  articles  in 
the  reviews  and  the  quarterlies?  They  all  pretty  well 
prove  that,  apart  from  anything  else,  a  big  European  war 
is  impossible  by  the  —  well,  by  the  sheer  bigness  of  the 
thing.  They  say  these  modern  gigantic  armies  could  n't 
operate,  could  n't  provision  themselves.  And  there 's 
the  finance.  They  prove  you  can't  fight  without  money 
and  that  credit  would  go  and  the  thing  would  stop  before 
it  had  begun,  pretty  well.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
that  sort  of  thing,  but  the  arguments  strike  me  as  abso 
lutely  sound." 

Otway  was  waiting  with  fidgety  impatience.  "  I  've 
heard  all  that.  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  it.  Of  course 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  No  one  does.  Least 
of  all  those  writing  chaps.  It 's  all  theory.  Every  one 
thought  that  with  modern  this,  that  and  the  other  you 
were  as  safe  on  the  last  word  in  liners  as  in  your  own 
bedroom.  Then  comes  along  that  Titanic  business  in 
April,  and  where  the  hell  are  you  with  your  modern  con 
ditions?  Fifteen  hundred  people  done  in.  I  tell  you  it 


182  IF   WINTER    COMES 

is  n't  that  things  that  used  to  happen  can't  happen  now ; 
it 's  simply  that  they  '11  happen  a  million  times  worse. 
What's  the  good  of  theories  when  you've  got  facts? 
Look  at  the  things  there  've  been  with  Germany  just  this 
year  alone.  Old  Haldane  over  in  Germany  in  February 
for  '  unofficial  discussions ',  Churchill  threatening  two 
keels  to  one  if  the  German  Navy  law  is  exceeded.  That 
was  March.  In  April  the  Germans  whack  up  their  Navy 
Law  Amendment,  twelve  more  big  ships.  That  chap 
Bertrand  Stewart  getting  three  and  a  half  years  for 
espionage  in  Germany;  and  two  German  spies  caught  by 
us  here,  —  that  chap  Grosse  over  at  Winchester  Assizes, 
three  years,  and  friend  Armgaard  Graves  up  at  Glasgow, 
eighteen  months.  An  American  cove  at  Leipzig  taking 
four  years'  penal  for  messing  around  after  plans  of  the 
Heligoland  fortifications.  Those  five  yachting  chaps  in 
July  arrested  for  espionage  at  Eckernforde.  War,  too, 
skits  of  it.  Turkey  and  Italy  hardly  done  when  all  these 
Balkan  chaps  set  to  and  slosh  Turkey.  Have  you  seen 
to-day's  papers  ?  I  '11  bet  you  they  '11  send  Turkey  to  hell 
at  Kirk  Kilisse  or  thereabouts  before  the  week  's  out." 

He  had  been  ticking  these  points  off  on  his  fingers 
much  astonishing  Sabre  by  his  marshalling  of  scattered 
incidents  that  had  been  merely  rather  pleasing  newspaper 
sensations  of  a  couple  of  days.  He  presented  the  ticked- 
off  fingers  bunched  up  together.  '*  There,  there  's  con 
crete  facts  for  you,  Sabre.  Can  you  say  things  are  n't 
tightening  up?  Why,  if  war  —  when  war  comes  peo 
ple  will  look  back  on  this  year,  1912,  and  wonder  where 
in  hell  their  eyes  were  that  they  did  n't  see  it.  What 
are  they  seeing?  — "  He  threw  his  fingers  apart. 
"  None  of  these  things.  Not  one.  All  this  doctors  and. 
the  Insurance  Bill  tripe,  Marconi  Inquiry,  Titanic,  Suf 
fragettes  smashing  up  the  West  End,  burning  down  Lulu 
Harcourt's  place,  trying  to  roast  old  Asquith  in  the  Dub- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  183 

lin  Theatre,  Seddon  murder,  this  triangular  cricket  show. 
Hell's  own  excitement  because  there's  so  much < rain  in 
August  and  people  in  Norwich  have  to  go  about  in  boats, 
and  then  hell's  own  hullaballoo  because  there  's  no  rain 
for  twenty-two  days  in  September  and  people  get  so  dry 
they  can't  spit  or  something."  His  keen  face  wrinkled 
up  into  laughter.  "  Eh,  did  n't  you  read  that  ?  "  He 
laughed  but  was  immediately  intense  again.  "  That 's 
all  that  really  interests  the  people.  By  God,  they  '11  sit 
up  and  take  notice  of  the  real  stuff  one  of  these  days. 
Pretty  soon.  Tightening  up,  I  tell  you.  Well,  I  'm  off, 
Sabre.  When  are  you  coming  up  to  the  Mess  again? 
Friday  ?  Well,  guest  night  the  week  after.  I  '11  drop 
you  a  line.  So  long."  He  was  off,  carrying  his  straight 
back  alertly  up  the  street. 

VII 

His  going  was  somehow  as  sudden  and  startling  as  his 
appearance  had  been  sudden  and  tumultuous.  He  had 
carried  away  Sabre's  thoughts  as  a  jet  from  a  hosepipe 
will  spin  a  man  out  of  a  crowd;  smashed  into  his  pre 
occupation  as  a  stone  smashing  through  a  window  upon 
one  deep  in  study ;  galloped  across  his  mind  as  a  cavalcade 
thundering  through  a  village  street,  —  and  the  effect  of  it, 
and  the  incongruity  of  it  as,  getting  his  bicycle  from  the 
office,  he  rode  homewards,  kept  returning  to  Sabre's 
mind,  as  an  arresting  dream  will  constantly  break  across 
daylight  thoughts. 

Nona  had  said  that  Tybar  knew  she  thought  often  of 
him.  "  He  knows  I  think  of  you."  That  was  the  way 
she  had  put  it.  It  explained  that  mock  in  his  eyes  when 
they  met  that  day  on  the  road,  and  Mrs.  Winfred's 
remark  and  her  look,  and  Tybar's,  that  day  outside  the 
office.  Extraordinary,  Otway  bursting  in  like  tha.t 


184  IF    WINTER    COMES 

with  all  those  ridiculous  scares.  Here  he  was  riding 
along  with  all  this  reality  pressing  enormously  about  him, 
and  with  this  strange  and  terrible  feeling  of  being  at  the 
beginning  of  something  or  at  the  end  of  something,  with 
this  voice  in  his  ears  of,  "  You  have  struck  your  tents  and 
are  upon  the  march  " ;  and  there  was  Otway,  up  at  the 
barracks,  miles  away  from  realities,  but  as  obsessed  with 
his  impossible  stuff  as  he  himself  with  these  most  real 
and  pressing  dismays.  What  would  he,  with  his  appre 
hension  of  what  might  lie  ahead,  be  saying  to  a  chap  like 
Otway  in  two  or  three  years  and  what  would  Otway  with 
his  obsessions  be  saying  to  him?  Ah,  two  or  three 
years  .  .  .  ! 

But  Nona  loved  him.  .  .  .  But  his  duty  was  here.  .  .  . 
And  he  could  have  taken  her  beautiful  body  into  his  arms 
and  held  her  beloved  face  to  his.  .  .  .  But  he  had  said 
not  a  word  of  love  to  her,  only  his  cry  of  "  Nona  — 
Nona.  ..."  His  duty  was  here.  .  .  .  But  what  would 
the  years  bring  .  .  .  ?  But  what  might  have  been! 
What  might  have  been ! 

VIII 

He  finished  his  ride  in  darkness.  The  Green,  as  he 
passed  along  it  on  the  free-wheel  run,  merged  away 
through  gloom  into  obscurity.  Points  of  light  from  the 
houses  showed  here  and  there.  The  windows  of  his 
home  had  lamplight  through  their  lattices.  The  drive 
was  soft  with  leaves  beneath  his  feet. 

Lamplight,  and  the  yielding  undertread  and  all  around 
walled  about  with  obscurity.  It  was  new.  It  had  shown 
thus  now  for  some  nights  on  his  return.  But  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  apprehended  it.  New.  Different.  A 
commencement.  An  ending. 

He  left  his  bicycle  in  the  roomy  porch.     He  missed 


IF  WINTER  COMES  185 

Low  Jinks  with  her  customary  friendly  greeting.  It  was 
very  lonely,  this.  He  opened  the  hall  door  and  entered. 
Absolute  silence.  He  had  grown  uncommonly  accus 
tomed  to  Low  Jinks  being  here.  .  .  .  Absolute  silence. 
It  was  like  coming  into  an  empty  house.  And  he 
had  got  to  go  on  coming  into  it,  and  living  in  it,  and  tre 
mendously  doing  his  duty  in  it. 

Like  an  empty  house.  He  stood  perfectly  still  in  the 
perfect  stillness.  Take  down:  it  is  beginning.  You 
have  struck  your  tents  and  are  upon  the  march. 


PART   THREE 
EFFIE 


CHAPTER   I 
I 

BUT  life  goes  on  without  the  smallest  regard  for  in 
dividual  preoccupations.  You  may  take  up  what  attitude 
you  like  towards  it  or,  with  the  majority,  you  may  take 
up  no  attitude  towards  it  but  immerse  yourself  in  the 
stupendous  importance  of  your  own  affairs  and  disclaim 
any  connection  with  life.  It  does  n't  matter  tuppence  to 
life.  The  ostrich,  on  much  the  same  principle,  buries  its 
head  in  the  sand ;  and  just  as  forces  outside  the  sand  ulti 
mately  get  the  ostrich,  so  life,  all  the  time,  is  massively; 
getting  you. 

You  have  to  go  along  with  it. 

And  in  October  of  the  following  year,  October,  1913, 
life  was  going  along  at  a  most  delirious  and  thrilling 
and  entirely  fascinating  speed.  There  never  was  such 
a  delicious  and  exciting  and  progressive  year  as  between 
October,  1912,  and  October,  1913. 

And  it  certainly  took  not  the  remotest  notice  of  Sabre. 

In  February,  Lord  Roberts,  at  Bristol,  opened  a  pro 
vincial  campaign  for  National  Service.  The  best  people 
—  that  is  to  say  those  who  did  not  openly  laugh  at  it  or, 
being  scaremongers,  rabidly  approve  it  —  considered  it  a 
great  shame  and  a  great  pity  that  the  poor  old  man 
should  thus  victimise  those  closing  years  of  his  life 
which  should  have  been  spent  in  that  honourable  retire 
ment  which  is  the  right  place  for  fussy  old  people  of  both 
sexes  and  all  walks  of  life. 

Sabre,  reading  the  reports  of  the  campaign  —  two  or 


190  IF    WINTER    COMES 

three  lines  —  could  not  but  reflect  how  events  were  falsi 
fying,  and  continued  to  falsify  the  predictions  of  the  in 
tense  Otway  in  this  regard.  Deliciously  pleasant  rela 
tions  with  Germany  were  variously  evidenced  through 
out  1913.  The  King  and  Queen  attended  in  Berlin  the 
wedding  of  the  Kaiser's  daughter,  and  the  popular  Press, 
in  picture  and  paragraph,  told  the  genial  British  public 
what  a  thoroughly  delightful  girl  the  Kaiser's  daughter 
was.  The  Kaiser  let  off  loud  "Hochs!"  of  friendly 
pride,  and  the  Press  of  the  world  responded  with  warm 
"Hochs"  of  admiration  and  tribute;  and  the  Kaiser, 
glowing  with  generous  warmth,  celebrated  the  occasion 
by  releasing  and  handsomely  pardoning  three  of  those  very 
British  "  spies  "  to  whose  incarceration  in  German  for 
tresses  (Sabre  recalled)  the  intense  Otway  had  attached 
such  deep  significance.  This  was  a  signal  for  more 
mutual  "  Hochs."  Later  the  Prince  of  Wales  visited 
Germany  and  made  there  an  .extended  stay  of  nine 
weeks;  and  in  June  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the 
Emperor  William's  accession  was  "  Hoch'd  "  throughout 
the  German  Empire  and  admiringly  "  Hoch'd "  back 
again  from  all  quarters  of  the  civilised  globe. 

It  was  all  splendid  and  gratifying  and  deeply  comfort 
ing.  So  many  "  Hochs !  "  and  such  fervent  and  sincere 
"Hochs!"  never  boomed  across  the  seas  of  the  world, 
and  particularly  the  North  Sea  or  (nice  and  friendly  to 
think)  German  Ocean,  in  any  year  as  in  the  year  1913. 

II 

Not  that  relations  with  Germany  counted  for  anything 
in  the  whirl  of  intensely  agreeable  sensations  of  these 
excellent  days.  Their  entirely  pleasing  trend  prevented 
the  scaremongers  from  interfering  with  full  enjoyment 
of  the  intensely  agreeable  sensations;  otherwise  they 


IF    WINTER    COMES  191 

were,  by  comparison  with  more  serious  excitements,  com 
pletely  negligible.  The  excitements  were  endless  and  of 
every  nature.  At  one  moment  the  British  Public  was 
stirred  to  its  depths  in  depths  not  often  touched  (in  1913) 
by  reading  of  Scott's  glorious  death  in  the  Antarctic;  at 
another  it  was  unspeakably  moved  by  the  disqualification 
of  the  Derby  winner  for  bumping  and  boring.  In  one 
week  it  was  being  thrilled  with  sympathy  by  the  superb 
heroism  and  the  appalling  death-roll,  four  hundred 
twenty-nine,  in  the  Welsh  colliery  disaster  at  Sen- 
ghenydd;  in  another  thrilled  with  horror  and  indignation 
at  the  baseness  of  a  sympathetic  strike.  In  one  month 
was  immense  excitement  because  the  strike  of  eleven 
thousand  insufferable  London  taxi-drivers  drove  every 
body  into  the  splendid  busses;  and  in  another  month 
immense  excitement  because  the  strike  of  all  the  insuffer 
able  London  bus-drivers  drove  everybody  into  the  splen 
did  taxis.  M.  Pegoud  accomplished  the  astounding 
feat  of  flying  upside  down  at  Juvisy  without  being  killed 
and  then  came  and  flew  upside  down  without  being 
killed  at  Brooklands.  One  man  flew  over  the  Simplon 
Pass  and  another  over  the  Alps.  Colonel  Cody  flew  to 
his  death  in  one  waterplane,  and  Mr.  Hawker  made  a 
superb  failure  to  fly  around  Great  Britain  in  another 
waterplane.  The  suffragists  threw  noisome  and  in 
flammable  matter  into  the  letter  boxes,  bombs  into  Mr. 
Lloyd  George's  house  at  Walton  and  into  other  almost 
equally  sacred  shrines  of  the  great,  stones  into  windows, 
axes  into  pictures,  chained  their  misguided  bodies  to  rail 
ings  and  gates,  jammed  their  miserable  bodies  into  pris 
ons,  hunger-struck  their  abominable  bodies  out  again,  and 
hurled  their  outrageous  bodies  in  front  of  the  sacred  race 
for  the  Derby  at  Epsom,  and  the  only  less  sacred  race 
for  the  Gold  Cup  at  Ascot. 
It  was  terrific! 


192  IF    WINTER    COMES 

At  one  moment  the  loyal  public  were  thrilled  by  the 
magnificent  enrolment  of  the  Ulster  Volunteers,  and  at 
another  moment  outraged  by  the  seditious  and  mutinous 
enrolment  of  the  Nationalist  Volunteers;  in  one  month 
the  devoted  Commons  read  a  third  time  the  Home  Rule 
Bill,  the  Welsh  Church  Disestablishment  Bill  and  the 
Plural  Voting  Bill,  and  in  the  very  same  month  the 
stiff-necked  and  abominable  Lords  for  the  third  time  threw 
out  the  Home  Rule  Bill,  the  Welsh  Church  Disestablish 
ment  Bill  and  the  Plural  Voting  Bill.  It  was  terrific. 
The  newspapers  could  scarcely  print  it  —  or  anything  — 
terrifically  enough.  Adjectives  and  epithets  became  ex 
hausted  with  overwork  and  burst.  The  word  crisis  lost 
all  meaning.  There  was  such  a  ivelter  of  crises  that  the 
explosions  of  those  that  came  to  a  head  were  unnoticed 
and  pushed  away  into  the  obscurest  corners  of  the  news 
papers,  before  the  alarming  swelling  of  those  freshly 
rushing  to  a  head.  It  was  magnificent.  It  was  a 
deliciously  thrilling  and  emotional  year.  A  terrific  and 
stupendous  year.  Many  well-known  people  died. 

Ill 

It  was  naturally  a  year  of  strong  partisanship.  A  year  of 
violent  feelings  violently  expressed ;  and  amidst  them,  and 
because  of  them,  Sabre  found  with  new  certainty  that  he 
had  no  violent  feelings.  Increasingly  he  came  to  know 
that  he  had  well  expressed  his  constitutional  habit,  the 
outstanding  trait  in  his  character,  when,  on  the  day  of 
that  talk  in  the  office  with  Nona,  he  had  spoken  of  his 
disastrous  inability  —  disastrous  from  the  point  of  view 
of  being  satisfactory  to  single-minded  persons,  or  of 
pulling  out  that  big  booming  stuff  called  success  —  to  see 
a  thing,  whatever  it  might  be,  from  a  single  point  of  view 
and  go  all  out  for  it  from  that  point  of  view.  "  Convic- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  193 

tions,"  he  had  said,  and  often  in  the  welter  of  antag 
onistic  convictions  of  1913  thought  again,  "Convictions. 
If  you  're  going  to  pull  out  this  big  booming  stuff  they 
call  success,  if  you  're  going  to  be  satisfactory  to  any 
body  or  to  anything,  you  must  shut  down  on  everybody's 
point  of  view  but  your  own.  You  must  have  convictions. 
And  narrower  than  that  —  not  only  convictions  but  con 
viction.  Conviction  that  your  side  is  the  right  side  and 
that  the  other  side  is  wrong,  wrong  to  hell." 

And  he  had  no  such  convictions.  Above  all,  and  most 
emphatically,  he  had  never  the  conviction  that  his  side, 
whichever  side  it  might  be  in  any  of  the  issues  daily 
tabled  for  men's  discussion,  was  the  right  side  and  the 
other  side  the  wrong  and  wicked  and  disastrous  side. 

He  used  to  think,  "  I  can't  stand  shouting  and  I  can't 
stand  smashing.  And  that 's  all  there  is.  These  news 
papers  and  these  arguments  you  hear  —  it 's  all  shouting 
and  smashing.  It 's  never  thinking  and  building.  It 's 
all  destructive;  never  constructive.  All  blind  hatred  of 
the  other  views,  never  fair  examination  of  them.  You 
get  some  of  these  Unionists  together,  my  class,  my 
friends.  They  say  absolutely  nothing  else  but  damning 
and  blasting  and  foaming  at  Lloyd  George  and  Asquith 
and  the  trade-unionists.  Absolutely  nothing  else  at  all. 
And  you  get  some  of  these  other  chaps  together,  or  their 
newspapers,  and  it 's  exactly  the  same  thing  the  other 
way  about.  And  yet  we  're  all  in  the  same  boat.  There  's 
only  one  life  —  only  one  living  —  and  we  're  all  in  it. 
Come  into  it  the  same  way  and  go  out  of  it  the  same  way; 
and  all  up  against  the  same  real  facts  as  we  are  against 
the  same  weather.  That  fire  the  other  night  in  High 
Street.  All  sorts  of  people,  every  sort  of  person,  lent  a 
hand  in  putting  it  out.  And  that  frightful  railway  dis 
aster  at  Aisgill;  all  sorts  of  people  worked  together  in 
rescuing.  No  one  stopped  to  ask  whether  the  passengers 


194  IF    WINTER    COMES 

were  first  class  or  third.  Well,  that 's  the  sort  of  thing 
that  gets  me.  Fire  and  disaster  —  those  are  facts  and 
everybody  gets  to  and  deals  with  them.  And  if  there  was 
a  big  war  everybody  would  get  to  and  fight  it.  And  yet 
all  these  political  and  social  things  are  just  as  much  facts 
that  affect  everybody,  and  all  anybody  can  do  is  to 
shout  and  smash  up  the  other  man's  rights  in  them.  They 
all  do  it  —  in  everything.  Religion  's  as  bad  as  any  — 
worse.  Here  's  one  of  these  bishops  saying  he  can't 
countenance  Churchmen  preaching  in  chapels  or  dis 
senters  being  invited  to  preach  in  churches  because  the 
Church  must  stand  by  the  rock  principles  of  its  creed, 
and  to  preach  in  a  chapel  would  mean  politely  not  touch 
ing  on  those  principles.  You  'd  think  heaven  did  n't  come 
into  the  business  at  all.  And  you  'd  think  that  life 
does  n't  come  into  the  business  of  living  at  all.  All 
smashing.  .  .  .  Well,  I  can't  stick  shouting  and  I  can't 
stick  smashing." 

IV 

Something  of  these  views  he  one  day  expressed  to 
Pike,  the  Editor  of  the  Tidborough  County  Times.  He 
was  taken  into  the  County  Times  office  by  business  con 
nected  with  an  error  in  the  firm's  standing  account  for 
advertisement  notices  and,  encountering  Pike  outside  his 
room,  entered  with  him  and  talked. 

Pike  was  a  man  of  nearly  sixty  with  furiously  black 
and  luxuriant  hair.  He  had  been  every  sort  of  journal 
ist  in  America  and  in  London,  and  some  years  previ 
ously  had  been  brought  into  the  editorship  of  the  County 
Times.  The  Press,  broad-based  on  the  liberty  of  the 
English  people  and  superbly  impervious  to  whatever 
temptation  to  jump  in  the  direction  the  cat  jumps,  is,  on 
the  other  hand,  singularly  sensitive  to  apparently  incon 
sequent  trifles  in  the  lives  of  its  proprietary.  Pike,  with 


IF    WINTER    COMES  195 

his  reputation,  was  brought  into  the  editorship  of  the 
County  Times  solely  because  the  proprietor  late  in  life 
suddenly  married.  The  wife  of  the  proprietor  desiring 
to  share  a  knighthood  with  her  husband,  the  proprietor, 
anxious  to  please  but  unwilling  to  pay,  incontinently 
sacked  the  tame  editor  who  was  beguiling  an  amiable 
dotage  with  the  County  Times  and  looked  about  for  a 
wild  editor,  whom  unquestionably  he  found  in  Mr.  Pike. 

The  breath  of  the  County  Times  became  as  the  breath 
of  life  to  the  Tory  tradition  and  burst  from  its  columns 
as  the  breath  of  a  fiery  furnace  upon  all  that  was  op 
posed  to  the  Tory  tradition.  The  proprietor  felt  that 
his  knighthood  was  assured  as  soon  as  the  tide  of  liberal 
ism  turned;  and  the  County  Times,  which  could  not 
notice  even  a  Baptist  harvest  festival  without  snorting 
fire  and  brimstone  upon  it,  said  that  the  tide  of  radical 
ism —  it  did  not  print  the  words  Liberal  or  Liberalism  — • 
was  turning  every  day.  About  once  a  week  the  County 
Times  said  that  the  tide  of  radicalism  "  definitely  turned 
last  night." 

Pike  was  a  man  of  extraordinarily  violent  language. 
Consequent,  no  doubt,  on  the  restraint  of  having  to  write 
always  in  printable  language,  his  vocal  discussion  of  the 
subjects  on  which  he  wrote  was  mainly  in  unprintable. 
He  spoke  of  trade-unionists  always  as  "  those  swine  and 
dogs  "  and  of  the  members  of  the  Government  as  "  those 
dogs  and  swine  ",  —  swine  and  dogs  being  refined  and 
temperate  euphuisms  for  the  epithets  Mr.  Pike  actually 
employed. 

However  he  heard  Sabre's  stumbling  periods  tolerantly 
out  and  tolerantly  dealt  with  him. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sabre,  but  that  sort  of  stuff  's  absolutely 
fatal  —  fatal.  It 's  simply  compromise.  Compromise. 
The  most  fatal  defect  in  the  English  character." 

Sabre  happened  to  be  stout  enough  on  this  particular 


196  IF   WINTER   COMES 

point.  "  That 's  just  what  it  is  n't.  Precisely  what  it 
is  n't.  I  loathe  compromise.  More  than  anything.  Com 
promise  is  accepting  a  little  of  what  you  know  to  be 
wrong  in  order  to  get  a  little  of  what  you  imagine  to  be 
right." 

Pike  made  a  swift  note  in  shorthand  on  his  blotting 
pad.  "Exactly.  Well?" 

"  Well,  that 's  just  the  opposite  to  what  I  mean.  I 
mean  accepting,  admitting,  what  you  know  to  be  right." 

Pike  smote  his  hand  upon  the  blotting  pad.  "  But, 
damn  it,  those  dogs  and  swine  never  are  right." 

"  There  you  are !  "  said  Sabre. 

And  there  they  were,  shouting,  smashing;  and  Sabre 
could  not  do  either  and  retired  dismayed  from  the  arenas 
of  botk 


CHAPTER    II 


IT  much  affected  his  relations  with  those  nearest  to 
him,  —  with  Mabel,  with  Mr.  Fortune,  and  with  Twyn- 
ing.  In  those  months,  and  in  the  months  following, 
the  year  changing  and  advancing  in  equal  excitements 
and  strong  opinions  through  winter  into  spring,  he  found 
himself  increasingly  out  of  favour  at  The  Precincts  and 
increasingly  estranged  in  his  home.  And  it  was  his  own 
fault.  Detached  and  reflective  in  the  fond  detachment 
of  the  daily  bicycle  ride,  awake  at  night  mentally  pacing 
about  the  assembled  parts  of  his  puzzles,  he  told  himself 
with  complete  impartiality  that  the  cause  of  these  effects 
was  entirely  of  his  own  making.  "  I  can't  stick  shouting 
and  smashing  "  —  "I  can't  help  seeing  the  bits  of  right 
in  the  other  point  of  view  " :  those  were  the  causes.  He 
was  so  difficult  to  get  on  with :  that  was  the  effect  of  the 
complaint. 

"  Really,  Sabre,  I  find  it  most  difficult  to  get  on  with 
you  nowadays,"  Mr.  Fortune  used  to  say.  "  We  seem 
never  to  agree.  We  are  perpetually  at  loggerheads. 
Loggerheads.  I  do  most  strongly  resent  being  per 
petually  bumped  and  bruised  by  unwilling  participation 
in  a  grinding  congestion  of  loggerheads." 

And  Twyning,  "  Well,  I  simply  can't  hit  it  off  with 
you.  That 's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  try  to  be  friendly ;  but 
if  you  can't  hear  Lloyd  George's  name  without  taking 
up  that  kind  of  attitude,  well,  all  I  can  say  is  you  're 
trying  to  put  up  social  barriers  in  a  place  where  there  's 
no  room  for  social  barriers,  and  that 's  in  business." 


198  IF   WINTER    COMES 

And  Mabel :  "  Well,  if  you  want  to  know  what  I  think, 
I  think  you  're  getting  simply  impossible  to  get  on  with. 
You  simply  never  think  the  same  as  other  people  think. 
I  should  have  thought  it  was  only  common  decency  at  a 
time  like  this  to  stand  up  for  your  own  class;  but,  no. 
It 's  always  your  own  class  that 's  in  the  wrong  and  the 
common  people  who  are  in  the  right." 

"  Always."  He  began  to  hate  the  word  "  always." 
But  it  was  true.  In  those  exciting  and  intensely  opinion 
ated  days  it  seemed  there  was  never  a  subject  that  came 
up,  whether  at  The  Precincts  or  at  home,  but  he  found 
himself  on  the  other  side  of  the  argument  and  giving 
intense  displeasure  because  he  was  on  the  other  side.  In 
Mabel's  case  —  he  did  not  particularly  trouble  himself 
about  what  Twyning  and  Fortune  thought  —  but1  in 
Mabel's  case,  much  set  on  his  duty  to  give  her  happiness, 
he  came  to  prepare  with  care  for  the  dangerous  places 
of  their  intercourse.  But  never  with  success.  Places 
whose  aggravations  drove  her  to  her  angriest  protesta 
tions  of  how  utterly  impossible  he  was  to  get  on  with 
never  looked  dangerous  as  they  were  approached:  he 
would  ride  in  to  them  with  her  amicably  or  with  a  slack 
rein,  —  and  suddenly,  mysteriously,  unexpectedly,  he 
would  be  floundering,  the  relations  between  them  yet  a 
little  more  deeply  foundered. 

Such  utterly  harmless  looking  places : 

"  And  those  are  the  people,  mind  you,"  said  Mabel  — 
not  for  the  first  time  —  "  those  are  the  people  that  we 
have  to  lick  stamps  for  Lloyd  George  for !  " 

This  was  because  High  Jinks  had  been  seen  going  out 
for  her  afternoon  with  what  Mabel  described  to  Sabre  as 
a  trumpery,  gee-gaw  parasol. 

The  expression  amused  him.  "  Well,  why  in  heaven's 
name  shouldn't  High  Jinks  buy  a  trumpery,  gee-gaw 
parasol  ?  " 


IF   WINTER    COMES  199 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  n't  call  her  High  Jinks.  Be 
cause  she  can't  afford  a  trumpery,  gee-gaw  parasol." 

He  spoke  bemusedly.  No  need  for  caution  that  he 
could  see.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  —  I  rather  like  to  see 
them  going  out  in  a  bit  of  finery." 

Mabel  sniffed.  "  Well,  your  taste !  Servants  look 
really  nice  in  their  caps  and  aprons  and  their  black,  if 
they  only  knew  it.  In  their  bit  of  finery,  as  you  call  it, 
they  look  too  awful  for  words." 

Signs  of  flying  up.  He  roused  himself  to  avert  it. 
"  Oh,  rather.  I  agree.  What  I  meant  was  I  think  it 's 
rather  nice  to  see  them  decking  themselves  out  when 
they  get  away  from  their  work.  Rather  pathetic." 

"  Pathetic!" 

She  had  flown  up ! 

He  said  quickly,  "  No,  but  look  here,  Mabel,  wait  a  bit. 
I  ought  to  have  explained.  What  I  mean  is  they  have  a 
pretty  rotten  time,  all  that  class.  When  High  Jinks 
puts  up  a  trumpery,  gee-gaw  parasol,  she 's  human. 
That 's  pathetic,  only  being  human  once  a  week  and 
alternate  Sundays.  And  when  you  get  a  life  that  finds 
pleasure  in  a  trumpery,  gee-gaw  parasol,  well  that 's  more 
pathetic  still.  See?" 

Real  anxiety  in  his  "  See  ?  "  But  the  thing  was  done. 
"  No.  I  absolutely  don't.  Pathetic !  You  really  are 
quite  impossible  to  get  on  with.  I  've  given  up  even  try 
ing  to  understand  your  ideas.  Pathetic !  "  She  gave  her 
sudden  laugh. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Sabre. 

Deeper  foundered! 

II 

, 

And  precisely  the  same  word  —  pathetic  —  came  up 

between  them  in  the  matter  of  Miss  Bypass.     Miss  By- 


200  IF   WINTER    COMES 

pass  was  companion  to  Mrs.  Boom  Bagshaw,  the  mother 
of  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw.  Mabel  hated  Miss  Bypass  be 
cause  Miss  Bypass  was,  she  said,  the  rudest  creature  she 
ever  met.  And  "  of  course  "  Sabre  took  the  opposite 
view  —  the  ridiculous  and  maddening  view  —  that  her 
abominably  rude  manner  was  not  rude  but  pathetic. 

The  occasion  was  an  afternoon  call  paid  at  the  vicarage. 
Of  all  houses  in  the  Garden  Home  Sabre  most  dreaded 
and  feared  the  vicarage.  He  paid  this  call,  with  shud 
dering,  in  pursuance  of  his  endeavour  to  do  with  Mabel 
things  that  gave  her  pleasure.  (And  in  the  most  un 
congenial  of  them,  as  this  call  at  the  vicarage,  he  used  to 
think,  characteristically,  "  After  all,  I  have  n't  got  the 
decency  to  do  what  she  's  specially  asked  —  give  up  the 
bike  ride.") 

The  Vicarage  drawing-room  was  huge,  handsomely 
furnished,  much  adorned  with  signed  portraits  of  royal 
and  otherwise  celebrated  persons,  and  densely  crowded 
with  devoted  parishioners.  Among  them  the  Reverend 
Boom  Bagshaw  moved  sulkily  to  and  fro;  amidst  them, 
on  a  species  of  raised  throne,  Mrs.  Boom  Bagshaw  gave 
impressive  audience.  The  mother  of  the  Reverend  Boom 
Bagshaw  was  a  massive  and  formidable  woman  who 
seemed  to  be  swaddled  in  several  hundred  garments  of 
heavy  crepe  and  stiff  satin.  She  bore  a  distinct  resem 
blance  to  Queen  Victoria;  but  there  was  stuff  in  her  and 
upon  her  to  make  several  Queen  Victorias.  About  the 
room,  but  chiefly,  as  Sabre  thought,  under  his  feet,  fussed 
her  six  very  small  dogs.  There  were  called  Fee,  Fo  and 
Fum,  which  were  brown  toy  Poms ;  and  Tee,  To,  Turn, 
which  were  black  toy  Poms,  and  the  six  were  the  es 
pecial  care  and  duty  of  Miss  Bypass.  Every  day  Miss 
Bypass,  who  was  tall  and  pale  and  ugly,  was  to  be  seen 
striding  about  Penny  Green  and  the  Garden  Home  in 
process  of  exercising  the  dogs;  the  dogs,  for  their  part, 


IF    WINTER    COMES  201 

shrilling  their  importance  and  decorating  the  pavements 
in  accordance  with  the  engaging  habits  of  their  lovable 
characteristics.  In  the  drawing-room  Miss  Bypass  oc 
cupied  herself  in  stooping  about  after  the  six,  extracting 
bread  and  butter  from  their  mouths  —  they  were  not 
allowed  to  eat  bread  and  butter  —  and  raising  them  for 
the  adoring  inspection  of  visitors  unable  at  the  moment 
either  to  adore  Mr.  Boom  Bagshaw  or  to  prostrate  them 
selves  before  the  throne  of  Queen  Victoria  Boom  Bag 
shaw. 

Few  spoke  to  Miss  Bypass.  Those  who  did  were  an 
swered  in  the  curiously  defiant  manner  wrhich  was  her 
habit  and  which  was  called  by  Mabel  abominably  rude, 
and  by  Sabre  pathetic.  As  he  and  Mabel  were  taking 
their  leave,  he  had  Miss  Bypass  in  momentary  conver 
sation,  Mabel  standing  by. 

"  Hullo,  Miss  Bypass.  Have  n't  managed  to  see  you 
in  all  this  crowd.  How  're  things  with  you?  " 

"  I  'm  perfectly  well,  thank  you." 

"  Been  reading  anything  lately?  I  saw  you  coming 
out  of  the  library  the  other  day  with  a  stack  of  books." 

Miss  Bypass  gave  the  impression  of  bracing  herself, 
as  though  against  suspected  attack.  "  Yes,  and  they  were 
for  my  own  reading,  thank  you.  I  suppose  you  thought 
they  were  for  Mrs.  Boom  Bagshaw." 

Certainly  her  manner  was  extraordinarily  hostile. 
Sabre  took  no  notice. 

"  No,  I  bet  they  were  your  own.  You  're  a  great 
reader,  I  know." 

Her  tone  was  almost  bitter.  "  I  suppose  you  think  I 
read  nothing  but  Dickens  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Well,  you  might  do  a  good  deal  worse,  you  know. 
There  's  no  one  like  Dickens,  taking  everything  together." 

She  flushed.  You  could  almost  see  she  was  going  to 
say  something  rude.  "  That 's  a  very  kind  thing  to  say 


202  IF    WINTER    COMES 

to  uneducated  people,  Mr.  Sabre.  It  makes  them  think  it 
is  n't  education  that  prevents  them  enjoying  more  ad 
vanced  writers.  But  I  don't  suffer  from  that,  as  it  so 
happens.  I  daresay  some  of  my  reading  would  be  pretty 
hard  even  for  you." 

Sabre  felt  Mabel  pluck  at  his  sleeve.  He  glanced  at 
her.  Her  face  was  very  angry.  Miss  Bypass,  delivered 
of  her  sharp  words,  was  deeper  flushed,  her  head  drawn 
back.  He  smiled  at  her.  "  Why,  I  'm  sure  it  would, 
Miss  Bypass.  I  tell  you  what,  we  must  have  a  talk  about 
reading  one  day,  shall  we?  I  think  it  would  be  rather 
jolly  to  exchange  ideas." 

An  extraordinary  and  rather  alarming  change  came 
over  Miss  Bypass's  hard  face.  Sabre  thought  she  was 
going  to  cry.  She  said  in  a  thick  voice,  "  Oh,  I  don't 
really  read  anything  particularly  good.  It 's  only  —  Mr. 
Sabre,  thank  you."  She  turned  abruptly  away. 

When  they  were  outside,  Mabel  said,  "  How  extraor 
dinary  you  are !  " 

"Eh?     What  about?" 

"  Making  up  to  that  girl  like  that !  I  never  heard  such 
rudeness  as  the  way  she  spoke  to  you." 

Sabre  said,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Don't  know !  When  you  spoke  to  her  so  politely 
and  the  way  she  answered  you!  And  then  you  reply 
quite  pleasantly — " 

He  laughed.  "  You  did  n't  expect  me  to  give  her  a 
hard  punch  in  the  eye,  did  you?  " 

"  No,  of  course  I  did  n't  expect  you  to  give  her  a  hard 
punch  in  the  eye.  But  I  should  have  thought  you  'd  have 
had  more  sense  of  your  own  dignity  than  to  take  no  notice 
and  invite  her  to  have  a  talk  one  day." 

He  thought,  "  Here  we  are  again !  "  He  said,  "  Well, 
but  look,  Mabel.  I  don't  think  she  means  it  for  rudeness. 
She  is  rude  of  course,  beastly  rude;  but,  you  know,  that 


IF    WINTER    COMES  203 

manner  of  hers  always  makes  me  feel  frightfully  sorry 
for  iier." 

"Sorry!" 

"  Yes,  have  n't  you  noticed  many  people  like  her  with 
that  defiant  sort  of  way  of  speaking  —  people  not  very 
well  educated,  or  very  badly  off,  or  in  rather  a  dependent 
position,  and  most  frightfully  conscious  of  it.  They 
think  every  one  is  looking  dowrn  on  them,  or  patronising 
them,  and  the  result  is  they  're  on  the  defensive  all  the 
time.  Well,  that's  awfully  pathetic,  you  know,  all  your 
life  being  on  the  defensive;  back  against  the  wall;  can't 
get  away;  always  making  feeble  little  rushes  at  the  mob. 
By  Jove,  that 's  pathetic,  Mabel." 

She  said,  "  I  'm  not  listening,  you  know." 

He  was  startled.     "Eh?" 

"  I  say  I  'm  not  listening.  I  always  know  that  when 
ever  I  say  anything  about  any  one  I  dislike,  you  imme 
diately  start  making  excuses  for  them,  so  I  simply  don't 
listen." 

He  mastered  a  sudden  feeling  within  him.  "  Well,  it 
was  n't  very  interesting,"  he  said. 

"  No,  it  certainly  was  n't.  Pathetic !  "  She  gave  her 
sudden  burst  of  laughter.  "  You  think  such  extraordi 
nary  things  pathetic ;  I  wonder  you  don't  start  an  orphan- 
age!" 

He  halted  and  faced  her.  "  Look  here,  I  think  I  '11 
leave  you  here.  I  think  I  '11  go  for  a  bit  of  a  walk." 

Pretty  hard,  sometimes,  not  to  — 

III 

At  The  Precincts  the  increasing  habit  of  seeing  the 
other  side  of  things  was  confined,  in  its  increasing  exem 
plifications  of  how  impossible  he  was  to  get  on  with,  to 
the  furiously  exciting  incidents  of  public  affairs;  but  the 


204  IF    WINTER   COMES 

result  was  the  same;  the  result  was  that,  just  as,  on 
opening  his  door  on  return  home  at  night,  he  had  that 
chill  and  rather  eerie  feeling  of  stepping  into  an  empty 
house,  so,  on  entering  the  office  of  a  morning,  he  came 
to  have  again  that  sensation  that  it  was  a  deserted  habi 
tation  into  which  he  was  stepping;  no  welcome  here;  no 
welcome  there.  He  began  to  look  forward  with  a  new 
desire  for  the  escape  and  detachment  of  the  bicycle  ride; 
he  began  to  approach  its  termination  at  either  end  with  a 
sense  of  apprehension,  gradually  of  dismay. 

They  were  as  unexpected,  the  conflicts  of  opinion,  in 
the  office  as  they  were  at  home.  The  subject  would  come 
up,  he  would  enter  it  according  to  his  ideas  and  without 
foreseeing  trouble,  and  suddenly  he  would  find  himself  in 
acute  opposition  and  giving  acute  offence  because  he  was 
in  acute  opposition. 

The  Suffragettes !  The  day  when  Mr.  Fortune  re 
ceived  through  the  post  letters  upon  which  militancy  had 
squirted  its  oppression  and  its  determination  in  black  and 
viscid  form  through  the  aperture  of  the  letter  box.  "  And 
you  're  sticking  up  for  them !  "  declared  Mr.  Fortune  in 
a  very  great  passion.  "  You  're  deliberately  sticking  up 
for  them.  You  —  pah !  —  pouff !  —  paff !  I  have  got 
the  abominable  stuff  all  over  my  fingers." 

Sabre  displayed  the  "  wrinkled-up  nut  "  of  his  Puzzle- 
head  boyhood.  "  I  'm  not  sticking  up  for  them.  I  detest 
their  methods  as  much  as  you  do.  I  think  they  're  mon 
strous  and  indefensible.  All  I  said  was  that,  things  being 
as  they  are,  you  can't  help  seeing  that  their  horrible  ways 
are  bringing  the  vote  a  jolly  sight  nearer  than  it 's  ever 
been  before.  Millions  of  people  who  never  would  have 
thought  about  woman  suffrage  are  thinking  about  it  now. 
These  women  are  advertising  it  as  it  never  could  be  ad 
vertised  by  calmly  talking  about  it,  and  you  can't  get 
anything  nowadays  except  by  shouting  and  smashing  and 


IF   WINTER   COMES  205 

abusing  and  advertising.  I  only  wish  you  could.  No 
one  listens  to  reason.  It 's  got  to  be  what  they  call  a 
whirlwind  campaign  or  go  without.  That 's  not  sticking 
up  for  them.  It 's  simply  recognising  a  rotten  state  of 
affairs." 

"  And  I  say  to  you,"  returned  Mr.  Fortune,  scrubbing 
furiously  at  his  fingers  with  a  duster,  "  and  I  say  to  you 
what  I  seem  to  be  perpetually  forced  to  say  to  you,  that 
your  ideas  are  becoming  more  and  more  repugnant  to  me. 
There  's  not  a  solitary  subject  comes  up  between  us  but 
you  adopt  in  it  what  I  desire  to  call  a  stubborn  and  con 
tumacious  attitude  towards  me.  Whoof !  "  He  blew  a 
cyclonic  blast  down  the  speaking  tube.  "  Send  Parker 
up  here.  Parker!  Send  Parker  up  here!  Parker! 
Parker!  Parker!  Pah!  Pouff!  Paff!  Now  it's  all 
over  the  speaking  tube!  I  am  by  no  means  recovered 
yet,  Sabre,  I  am  very  far  from  being  yet  recovered,  from 
your  remarks  yesterday  on  the  Welsh  Church  Disestab 
lishment  Bill.  Let  me  remind  you  again  that  your  attitude 
was  not  only  very  painful  to  me  in  my  capacity  of  one 
in  Holy  Orders,  it  was  also  outrageously  opposed  to  the 
traditions  and  standing  of  this  firm.  We  are  out  of  sym 
pathy,  Sabre.  We  are  seriously  out  of  sympathy;  and 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  would  do  well  to  reflect  whether 
we  are  not  dangerously  out  of  sympathy.  Let  me  —  " 

The  door  porter  entered  in  the  venerable  presence  of 
the  summoned  Parker,  much  agitated.  . 

Sabre  began,  "If  you  can't  see  what  I  said  about  the 
Disestablishment  Bill  —  " 

"  I  did  not  see;  I  do  not  see;  I  cannot  see  and  I  shall 
not  see.  I  —  " 

Sabre  moved  towards  his  door.  "  Well,  I  'd  better  be 
attending  to  my  work.  If  anything  I  Ve  said  annoyed 
you,  it  certainly  was  not  intended  to." 

And  there  followed  him  into  his  room,  "  Pumice  stone! 


206  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Pumice  stone!  Pumice  stone!  Go  to  the  chemist's  and 
get  some  pumice  stone.  .  .  .  Very  well  then,  sir,  don't 
stand  there  staring  at  me,  sir !  " 

IV 

Like  living  in  two  empty  houses:  empty  this  end; 
empty  that  end.  More  frequently,  for  these  estrange 
ments,  appealed  to  him  the  places  of  his  refuge :  the  room 
of  his  mind,  that  private  chamber  wherein,  retired,  he 
assembled  the  parts  of  his  puzzles;  that  familiar  gar 
ment  in  which,  invested,  he  sat  among  the  fraternity  of 
his  thoughts;  the  evenings  with  Young  Perch  and  old 
Mrs.  Perch;  the  evenings  with  Mr.  Fargus. 

Most  strongly  of  all  called  another  refuge;  and  this, 
because  it  called  so  strongly,  he  kept  locked.  Nona. 

They  met  no  more  frequently  than,  prior  to  her  two 
years'  absence,  they  had  been  wont  to  meet  in  the  ordi 
nary  course  of  neighbourly  life;  and  their  lives,  by  their 
situations,  were  much  detached.  Northrepps  was  only 
visited,  never  resided  at  for  many  months  together. 

His  resolution  was  not  to  force  encounters.  Once, 
very  shortly  after  that  day  of  her  disclosure,  he  had  said 
to  her,  "  Look  here,  we  're  not  going  to  have  any  ar 
ranged  meetings,  Nona.  I  'm  not  strong  enough  —  not 
strong  enough  to  resist.  I  could  n't  bear  it." 

She  answered,  "  You  're  too  strong,  Marko.  You  're 
too  strong  to  do  what  you  think  you  ought  not  to  do; 
it  is  n't  not  being  strong  enough." 

He  told  her  she  was  very  wrong.  "  That 's  giving  me 
strength  of  character.  I  have  n't  any  strength  of  char 
acter  at  all.  That 's  been  my  failing  all  my  life.  I  tell 
you  what  I  've  got  instead.  I  've  got  the  most  frightfully, 
the  most  infernally  vivid  sense  of  what 's  right  in  my 
own  personal  conduct.  Lots  of  people  have  n't.  I  envy 


IF   WINTER    COMES  207 

them.  They  can  do  what  they  like.  But  I  know  what  I 
ought  to  do.  I  know  it  so  absolutely  that  there  's  no  ex 
cuse  for  me  when  I  don't  do  it,  certainly  no  credit  if  I  do. 
I  go  in  with  my  eyes  open  or  I  stay  out  merely  because 
my  eyes  are  open.  There  's  nothing  in  that.  If  it 's 
anything  it 's  contemptible.'* 

She  said,  "  Teach  me  to  be  contemptible." 


In  those  words  he  had  expressed  his  composition. 
What  he  had  not  revealed  —  that  very  vividness  of  sense 
of  what  was  right  (and  what  was  wrong)  in  his  con 
duct  forbidding  it  —  was  the  corroding  struggle  to  pre 
serve  the  path  of  his  duty.  Because  of  that  struggle  he 
kept  locked  the  refuge  that  Nona  was  to  him  in  his 
dismays.  He  would  have  no  meetings  with  her  save 
only  such  as  thrice  happy  chance  and  most  kind  circum 
stance  might  apportion.  That  was  within  the  capacity 
of  his  strength.  He  could  "  at  least  "  (he  used  to  think) 
prevent  his  limbs  from  taking  him  to  her.  But  his  mind 
—  his  mind  turned  to  her;  automatically,  when  he  was 
off  his  guard,  as  a  swing  door  ever  to  its  frame;  franti 
cally,  when  he  would  abate  it,  as  a  prisoned  animal 
against  its  bars.  By  day,  by  night,  in  Fortune's  com 
pany,  in  Mabel's  company,  in  solitude,  his  mind  turned  to 
her.  This  was  the  refuge  he  kept  locked,  using  the  ex 
pression  and  envisaging  it. 

He  used  to  think,  "  Of  course  I  fail.  Of  course  she  's 
always  in  my  mind.  But  while  I  make  the  effort  to  pre 
vent  it,  while  I  do  sometimes  manage  to  wrench  my  mind 
away,  I  'm  keeping  fit ;  I  'm  able  to  go  on  putting  up  some 
sort  of  a  fight.  I  ''m  able  to  help  her." 

To  help  her !  But  helping  her,  unfolding  before  her  in 
his  own  measured  words,  as  one  pronouncing  sentence, 


208  IF   WINTER    COMES 

rectitude's  austere  asylum  for  their  pains,  watching  her 
while  she  listened,  hearing  her  gentle  acquiescence,  — 
these  were  most  terrible  to  his  governance  upon  himself. 

VI 

He  said  one  day,  "  You  see,  there  's  this,  Nona.  Life  's 
got  one.  We  're  in  the  thing.  All  the  time  you  've  got  to 
go  on.  You  can't  go  back  one  single  second.  What 
you  've  done,  you  've  done.  It  may  take  only  a  minute 
in  the  doing,  or  in  the  saying,  but  it 's  done,  or  said,  for 
all  your  life,  perhaps  for  the  whole  of  some  one  else's  life 
as  well.  That 's  terrific,  Nona. 

"  Nona,  that 's  how  life  gets  us;  there  's  just  one  way 
we  can  get  life  and  that 's  by  thinking  forward  before 
we  do  a  thing.  By  remembering  that  it 's  going  to  be 
there  for  always.  What 's  in  our  hearts  for  one  another, 
Nona,  is  no  hurt  to  to-morrow  or  to  next  year  or  to 
twenty  years  hence,  either  to  our  own  lives  or  to  any  one 
else's  —  no  hurt  while  it 's  only  there  and  not  expressed, 
or  acted  on.  I  've  never  told  you  what 's  in  my  heart  for 
you,  nor  you  told  me  what 's  in  your  heart  for  me.  It 
must  remain  like  that.  Once  that  goes,  everything  goes. 
It 's  only  a  question  of  time  after  that.  And  after  that, 
again,  only  a  question  of  time  before  one  of  us  looks 
back  and  wishes  for  the  years  over  again." 

She  made  the  smallest  motion  of  dissent. 

He  said,  "  Yes.  There 's  right  and  wrong,  Nona. 
Nothing  else  in  between.  No  compromise.  No  way  of 
getting  round  them  or  over  them.  You  must  be  either 
one  thing  or  the  other.  Once  we  took  a  step  towards 
wrong,  there  it  is  for  ever,  and  all  its  horrible  things 
with  it  —  deceit,  concealment,  falsehood,  subterfuge, 
pretence:  vile  and  beastly  things  like  that.  I  couldn't 
endure  them;  and  I  much  less  could  endure  thinking  I 


IF    WINTER    COMES  209 

had  caused  you  to  suffer  them.  And  then  on  through 
that  mire  to  dishonour.  —  It 's  easy,  it  sounds  rather  fine, 
to  say  the  world  well  lost  for  love ;  but  honour,  honour 's 
not  well  lost  for  anything.  You  can't  replace  it.  I 
couldn't  —  " 

The  austere  asylum  of  their  pains.  He  looked  back 
upon  it  as  he  had  unfolded  it.  He  looked  forward  across 
it  as,  most  stern  and  bleak,  it  awaited  them.  He  cried 
with  a  sudden  loudness,  as  though  he  protested,  not  be 
fore  her,  but  before  arbitrament  in  the  high  court  of 
destiny,  "  But  I  cannot  help  you  upward;  I  can  only  lead 
you  downward." 

She  said,  "  Upward,  Marko.     You  help  me  upward." 

Her  gentle  acquiescence! 

There  swept  upon  him,  as  one  reckless  in  sudden  surge 
of  intoxication,  most  passionate  desire  to  take  her  in 
his  arms;  and  on  her  lips  to  crush  to  fragments  the 
barriers  of  conduct  he  had  in  damnable  sophistries 
erected;  and  in  her  ears  to  breathe,  "  You  are  beloved  to 
me !  Honour,  honesty,  virtue,  rectitude  —  words,  dar 
ling,  words,  words,  words !  Beloved,  let  the  foundations 
of  the  world  go  spinning,  so  we  have  love." 

He  called  most  terribly  upon  himself,  and  his  self  an 
swered  him;  but  shaken  by  that  most  fierce  onset  he  said 
thickly,  "  I  '11  have  this.  If  ever  it  grows  too  hard  for 
you,  tell  me  —  tell  me." 

VII 

It  must  be  kept  locked.  In  grievous  doubt  of  his  own 
strength,  in  loneliness  more  lonely  for  his  doubt,  more 
deeply,  as  advancing  summer  lengthened  out  his  waking 
solitude,  he  explored  among  his  inmost  thoughts;  more 
eagerly,  in  relief  from  their  perplexities,  turned  to  the  com 
panionship  of  Fargus  and  the  Perches.  How  very,  very 


210  IF    WINTER    COMES 

glad  they  always  were  to  see  him !  It  was  the  strong  happi 
ness  they  manifested  in  greeting  him  that  most  deeply 
gave  the  pleasure  he  had  in  their  company.  He  often 
pondered  the  fact.  It  was,  in  their  manifestation  of  it, 
as  though  he  brought  them  something,  —  something  very 
pleasurable  to  them  and  that  they  much  wanted.  Cer 
tainly  he,  for  his  own  part,  received  such  from  them: 
a  sense  of  warmth,  a  kindling  of  the  spirit,  a  glowing  of 
all  his  affections  and  perceptions. 

His  mind  would  explore  curiously  along  this  train  of 
thought.  He  came  to  determine  that  infinitely  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  life  was  a  face  lighting  up  with  the 
pleasure  of  friendship :  in  its  apotheosis  irradiating  with 
the  wonder  of  love.  That  frequent  idea  of  his  of  the 
"  wanting  something  "  look  in  the  faces  of  half  the  people 
one  saw :  he  thought  that  the  greeting  of  some  one  loved 
might  well  be  a  touching  of  the  quality  that  was  to  seek. 
The  weariest  and  the  most  wistful  faces  were  sheerly 
transfigured  by  it.  But  he  felt  it  was  not  entirely  the 
secret.  The  greeting  passed ;  the  light  faded ;  the  wanting 
returned.  But  he  determined  the  key  to  the  solution 
lay  within  that  ambit.  The  happiness  was  there.  It  was 
here  in  life,  found,  realised  in  loving  meeting,  as  warmth 
is  found  on  stepping  from  shadow  into  the  sun.  The 
thing  lacking  was  something  that  would  fix  it,  render  it 
permanent,  establish  it  in  the  being  as  the  heart  is  rooted 
in  the  body.  —  Something  ?  What  ? 

He  thought,  "  Well,  why  is  it  that  children's  faces 
are  always  happy  ?  There  's  something  they  must  lose  as 
they  grow  out  of  childhood.  It's  not  that  cares  and 
troubles  come;  the  absurd  troubles  of  childhood  are  just 
as  terrific  troubles  to  them  as  grown-ups'  cares  are  to 
grown-ups.  No,  it  is  that  something  is  lost.  Well,  what 
had  I  as  a  child  that  I  have  not  as  a  man  ?  Would  it  be 
hope?  Would  it  be  faith?  Would  it  be  belief?  '•'• 


IF    WINTER    COMES  211 

He  thought,  "  I  wonder  if  they  're  all  the  same,  those 
three  —  belief,  faith,  hope?  Belief  in  hope.  Faith  in 
hope.  It  may  be.  Is  it  that  a  child  knows  no  limita 
tion  to  hope?  It  can  hope  impossible  things.  But  a 
man  hopes  no  further  than  he  can  see  —  I  wonder  —  " 

And  suddenly,  in  one  week,  life  from  its  armoury 
discharged  two  events  upon  him.  In  the  next  week  one 
upon  the  world. 


CHAPTER    III 
I 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  July  there  was  some  particularly 
splendid  excitement  for  the  newspaper-reading  public. 
Ireland  provided  it;  and  the  newspapers,  as  the  events 
enlarged  one  upon  the  other,  could  scarcely  find  type 
big  enough  to  keep  pace  with  them.  On  the  twenty-first, 
the  King  caused  a  conference  of  British  and  Irish  leaders 
to  assemble  at  Buckingham  Palace.  On  the  twenty- 
fourth,  the  British  and  Irish  leaders  departed  from  Buck 
ingham  Palace  in  patriotic  halos  of  national  champions 
who  had  failed  to  agree  "  in  principle  or  detail."  Dead 
lock  and  Crisis  flew  about  the  streets  in  stupendous  type ; 
and  though  they  had  been  doing  so  almost  daily  for  the 
past  eighteen  months,  everybody  could  see,  with  the 
most  delicious  thrills,  that  these  were  more  firmly 
locked  deadlocks  and  more  critical  crises  than  had  ever 
before  come  whooping  out  of  the  inexhaustible  store 
where  they  were  kept  for  the  public  entertainment.  Aus 
tria,  and  then  Germany,  made  a  not  bad  attempt  on 
public  attention  by  raking  up  some  forgotten  sensation 
over  a  stale  excitement  at  a  place  called  Sarajevo;  but 
on  the  twenty-sixth,  Ireland  magnificently  filled  the  bill 
again  by  the  far  more  serious  affair  of  Nationalist  Vol 
unteers  landing  three  thousand  rifles  and  marching  with 
them  into  Dublin.  Troops  fired  on  the  mob,  and  the 
House  of  Commons  gave  itself  over  to  a  most  exciting 
debate  on  the  business;  the  Irish  Party  demanded  a 
large  number  of  brutal  heads  to  be  delivered  on  chargers; 
and  Unionist  politicians,  Press,  and  public  declared  that 


IF   WINTER    COMES  213 

the  heads  were  not  brutal  heads  but  loyal  and  devoted 
heads  and  should  not  be  delivered;  on  the  contrary  they 
should  be  wreathed.  It  was  delicious. 

II 

It  was  delicious  and  it  was,  moreover,  reassuring.  In 
these  same  days  between  the  summoning  of  the  Bucking 
ham  Palace  Conference  and  the  landing  of  the  National 
ist  guns,  Continental  events  arising  out  of  the  stale  Sara 
jevo  affair  reared  their  heads  and  looked  towards  Great 
Britain  in  a  presumptuous  and  sinister  way  to  which  the 
British  public  was  not  accustomed,  and  which  it  resented. 
The  British  public  had  never  taken  any  interest  in  inter 
national  affairs  and  it  did  not  wish  to  take  any  interest 
in  international  affairs.  It  certainly  did  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed  by  them,  and  at  this  moment  of  the  exciting 
Irish  deadlock  the  Wilhelmstrasse,  the  Ball  Platz,  the 
Quai  d'Orsay  and  similar  stupid,  meaningless  and  un 
pronounceable  places  intruded  themselves  disturbingly  in 
British  homes,  much  as  the  writing  on  the  wall  vexatiously 
disturbed  Belshazzar's  feast,  and  were  similarly  resented. 
Belshazzar  probably  ordered  in  a  fresh  troupe  of  dancers 
to  remove  the  chilly  effect  of  the  stupid,  meaningless  and 
unpronounceable  writing,  and  in  the  same  way  the  Brit 
ish  public  turned  with  relief  and  with  thrills  to  the  gun- 
running  and  the  shooting. 

It  was  characteristically  intriguing  in  the  nature  of  its 
excitement.  It  was  characteristically  intriguing  because, 
like  all  the  domestic  sensations  to  which  the  British 
Public  had  become  accustomed,  it  in  no  way  interfered 
with  the  lives  of  those  not  directly  implicated  in  it.  Like 
them  all,  it  entertained  without  inconveniencing.  They 
knew  their  place,  the  deadlocks,  the  crises  and  the  other 
sensations  of  those  glowing  days.  They  caused  no  mem- 


214  IF   WINTER   COMES 

her  of  their  audience  to  go  without  his  meals.     They  in 
terfered  neither  with  pleasure  nor  with  business. 

Ill 

Sometimes  this  was  a  little  surprising.  Fresh  from 
newspaper  instruction  of  the  deadness  of  the  deadlock, 
the  poignancy  of  the  crisis,  or  the  stupendity  of  the 
achievement,  one  rather  expected  one's  own  personal 
world  to  stand  still  and  watch  it.  But  one's  own  per 
sonal  world  never  did  stand  still  and  watch  it. 

Sabre,  coming  into  his  office  on  the  day  reporting  the 
affray  in  Dublin,  was  made  to  experience  this. 

In  the  town,  on  his  arrival,  he  purchased  several  of  the 
London  newspapers  to  read  other  accounts  and  other 
views  of  the  gun-running  and  its  sensational  sequel.  His 
intention  was  to  read  them  the  moment  he  got  to  his 
room.  He  put  them  on  a  chair  while  he  hung  up  his 
straw  hat  and  filled  a  pipe. 

They  remained  there  unopened  till  the  charwoman 
removed  them  in  the  evening.  On  his  desk,  as  he 
glanced  towards  it,  was  a  letter  from  Nona. 

He  turned  it  over  in  his  hands  —  the  small  neat  script. 
She  never  before  had  written  to  him  at  the  office. 
It  bore  the  London  postmark.  She  would  be  writing 
from  their  town  house.  It  would  be  to  say  she  was  com 
ing  back.  .  .  .  But  she  never  wrote  on  the  occasions  of 
her  return;  they  just  met.  .  .  .  And  she  had  never  be 
fore  written  to  the  office. 

Mr.  Fortune  appeared  at  the  communicating  door. 
Sabre  put  the  letter  into  his  pocket  and  turned  towards 
him. 

Mr.  Fortune  came  into  the  room.  With  him  was  a 
young  man,  a  youth,  whose  face  was  vaguely  familiar  to 
Sabre;  Twyning  behind. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  215 

"  Ah,  Sabre,"  said  Mr.  Fortune.  "  Good  morning, 
Sabre.  This  is  rather  a  larger  number  of  visitors  than 
you  would  commonly  expect,  but  we  are  a  larger  staff 
this  morning  than  we  have  heretofore  been.  I  am  bring 
ing  in  to  you  a  new  member  of  our  staff."  He  indicated 
the  young  man  beside  him.  "  A  new  member  but  bearing 
an  old  name.  A  chip  of  the  old  block  —  the  old  Twyning 
block."  He  smiled,  stroking  his  whale-like  front  rather 
as  though  this  pleasantry  had  proceeded  from  its  depths 
and  he  was  congratulating  it.  The  young  man  smiled. 
Twyning,  edging  forward  from  the  background,  also 
smiled.  All  the  smiles  were  rather  nervous.  This  was 
natural  in  the  new  member  of  the  staff  but  in  Twyning 
and  Mr.  Fortune  gave  Sabre  the  feeling  that  for  some 
reason  they  were  not  entirely  at  ease.  His  immediate 
thought  had  been  that  it  was  an  odd  thing  to  have  taken 
on  young  Twyning  without  mentioning  it  even  casually 
to  him.  It  was  significant  of  his  estrangement  in  the 
office;  but  their  self-conscious  manner  was  even  more 
significant :  it  suggested  that  he  had  been  kept  out  of  the 
plan  deliberately. 

He  gave  the  young  man  his  hand.  "  Why,  that 's  very 
nice,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  I  knew  your  face.  I  think 
I  've  seen  you  with  your  father.  You  've  been  in  Blade 
and  Parson's  place,  have  n't  you?  " 

Young  Twyning  replied  that  he  had.  He  had  his 
father's  rather  quick  and  stiff  manner  of  speaking.  He 
was  fair-haired  and  complexioned,  good-looking  in  a 
sharp-featured  way,  a  juvenile  edition  of  his  father  in  a 
different  colouring. 

Mr.  Fortune,  still  stroking  the  whale-like  front,  pro 
duced  further  pleasantry  from  it.  :'  Yes,  with  Blade  and 
Parson.  Twyning  here  has  snatched  him  from  the  long 
arm  of  the  law  before  he  has  had  time  to  develop  the 
long  jaw  of  the  legal  shark.  In  point  of  fact,  Sabre  "  — 


216  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Mr.  Fortune  ceased  to  stroke  the  whale-like  front.  He 
moved  a  step  or  two  out  of  the  line  of  Sabre's  regard, 
and  standing  before  the  bookshelves,  addressed  his  re 
marks  to  them  as  though  what  else  he  had  to  say  were  not 
of  particular  consequence  —  "  In  point  of  fact,  Sabre, 
this  very  natural  and  pleasing  desire  of  Twyning  to  have 
his  son  in  the  office,  a  desire  which  I  am  most  gratified  to 
support,  is  his  first  —  what  shall  I  say? —  feeling  of  his 
feet  —  establishing  of  his  position  —  in  his  new  —  er  — 
in  his  new  responsibility,  duty — er — function.  I  like 
this  deeper  tone  in  the  '  Six  Terms  '  binding,  Sabre.  I 
distinctly  approve  it.  Yes.  What  was  I  saying?  Ah, 
yes,  Twyning  is  now  in  partnership,  Sabre.  Yes. 
Good." 

He  came  abruptly  away  from  the  shelves  and  directed 
the  whale-like  front  towards  his  door  in  process  of  de 
parture.  "  A  little  reorganisation.  Nothing  more.  Just 
a  little  reorganisation.  I  think  you  '11  find  we  shall  all 
work  very  much  the  more  comfortably  for  it."  He 
paused  before  young  Twyning.  "  Well,  young  man,  now 
you  've  made  your  bow  before  our  literary  adviser.  I 
think  we  decided  to  call  him  Harold,  eh,  Twyning? 
Avoid  confusion,  don't  you  agree,  Sabre?  " 

"If  that 's  his  name,"  Sabre  said.  He  had  remained 
standing  looking  towards  father  and  son  precisely  as  he 
had  stood  and  looked  at  the  party's  entry. 

Mr.  Fortune  glanced  sharply  at  him  and  compressed 
his  lips.  "  It  is,"  he  said  shortly.  He  left  the  room. 

IV 

Twyning  spoke  his  first  words  since  his  entry.  "  Well, 
there  we  are,  old  man."  He  smiled  and  breathed  strongly 
through  his  nose,  as  if  tensing  himself  against  some 
emergency  that  might  arise. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  217 

Sabre  said,  "  Yes,  well  done,  Twyning.  Of  course  he 
promised  you  this  long  ago." 

"  Yes,  did  n't  he?  Glad  you  remember  my  telling  you. 
Of  course  it  won't  make  the  least  difference  to  you,  old 
man.  What  I  mean  is,  if  anything  I  hope  I  shall  be 
able  to  give  you  a  leg  up  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  I  've  been 
telling  Harold  what  a  frightfully  smart  man  you  are, 
haven't  I,  Harold?" 

Harold  smiled  assent  to  this  tribute,  and  Sabre  said,  "  I 
suppose  we  shall  go  on  much  as  before?  " 

"  Oh,  rather,  old  man." 

"  Harold  be  working  in  your  room,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  idea,  for  a  start,  anyway.  They  Ve 
just  shoving  up  a  desk  for  him.  Come  along  in  and  see 
how  we  're  fixing  it,  old  man." 

"  I  '11  look  in  presently." 

"  Righto,  old  man.  Come  along,  Harold."  At  the 
door  he  turned  and  said,  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  want  you  to 
show  Harold  through  the  work  of  this  side  of  the  busi 
ness  a  bit  later  on." 

Sabre  looked  quickly  at  him.     "  You  want  me  to?  " 

Twyning  flushed  darkly.  "  Well,  he  may  as  well  get 
the  hang  of  the  whole  business,  may  n't  he?  That 's  what 
I  mean." 

"  Oh,  certainly  he  should.  I  quite  agree.  Send  him 
along  any  time  you  like." 

"  Thanks  awfully,  old  man." 

But  outside  the  door  Twyning  added  to  himself  :  "  You 
thought  that  was  an  order,  my  lord ;  and  you  did  n't  like 
it  Pretty  soon  you  won't  think.  You  '11  know." 


Sabre  remained  standing  at  his  desk.     He  had  a  tiny 
ball  of  paper  in  his  hand  and  he  rolled  it  round  between 


218  IF    WINTER    COMES 

his  finger  and  thumb,  round  and  round  and  round  and 
round.  ...  In  his  mind  was  a  recollection :  "  You  have 
struck  your  tents  and  are  upon  the  march/' 

He  thought,  "  This  has  been  coming  a  long  time.  .  .  . 
It 's  my  way  of  looking  at  things  has  done  this.  I  'm  get 
ting  so  I  Ve  got  nowhere  to  turn.  It 's  no  good  pretend 
ing  I  don't  feel  this.  I  feel  it  most  frightfully.  .  .  .  I  Ve 
let  down  the  books.  They  '11  take  a  back  place  in  the 
business  now.  Twyning  's  always  been  jealous  of  them. 
Fortune 's  never  really  liked  my  success  with  them. 
They  '11  begin  interfering  with  the  books  now.  .  .  .  My 
books.  ...  It  was  rottenly  done.  Behind  my  back. 
Plotted  against  me,  or  they  would  n't  have  sprung  it  on 
me  like  that.  That  shows  what  it 's  going  to  be  like.  .  .  . 
It 's  all  through  my  way  of  looking  at  things.  .  .  .  I  Ve 
no  one  here  I  can  take  things  to.  This  frightful  feeling 
of  being  alone  in  the  place.  And  it 's  going  to  be  worse. 
And  nowhere  to  get  out  of  it.  More  empty  at  home.  .  .  . 
And  now  there  's  this.  And  I  Ve  got  to  go  back  to  that. 
.  .  .  '  You  have  struck  your  tents  and  are  upon  the 
march '  .  .  .  Yes.  Yes.  ..." 

He  suddenly  recollected  Nona's  letter.  He  took  it  from 
his  pocket  and  opened  it;  and  the  second  event  was  dis 
charged  upon  him. 

She  wrote  from  their  town  house : 

"  Marko,  take  me  away  —  Nona" 

His  emotions  leapt  to  her  with  most  terrible  violence. 
He  felt  his  heart  leap  against  his  breast  as  though,  en 
gine  of  his  tumult,  it  would  burst  its  bonds  and  to  her. 
He  struck  his  hand  upon  the  desk.  He  said  aloud,  "  Yes ! 
Yes ! "  He  remembered  his  words,  "If  ever  you  feel  you 
can't  bear  it,  tell  me.  — Tell  me." 


IF    WINTER    COMES  219 

VI 

He  began  to  write  plans  to  her.  He  would  come  to 
London  to-morrow.  .  .  .  She  should  come  to  the  station 
if  she  could;  if  not,  he  would  be  at  the  Great  Western 
Hotel.  She  would  telephone  to  him  there  and  they  could 
arrange  to  meet  and  discuss  what  they  should  do.  .  .  . 
He  would  like  to  go  away  with  her  directly  they  met,  but 
there  were  certain  things  to  see  to.  He  wrote,  "  But  I 
can  only  take  you  —  " 

His  pen  stopped.  Familiar  words !  He  repeated  them 
to  himself,  and  their  conclusion  and  their  circumstance 
appeared  and  stood,  as  with  a  sword,  across  the  passage 
of  his  thoughts.  "  But  I  can  only  lead  you  downwards. 
I  cannot  lead  you  upwards.  ..." 

As  with  a  sword  — 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed  upon  this  armed 
intruder  to  give  it  battle. 

VII 

The  morning  passed  and  the  afternoon  while  still  he 
sat,  no  more  moving  than  to  sink  lower  in  his  seat  as  the 
battle  joined  and  as  he  most  dreadfully  suffered  in  its 
most  dreadful  onsets.  Towards  five  o'clock  he  put  out 
his  hand  without  moving  his  position  and  drew  towards 
him  the  letter  he  had  begun.  The  action  was  as  that  of 
one  utterly  undone.  He  very  slowly  tore  it  across,  and 
then  across  again,  and  so  into  tiniest  fragments  till  his 
fingers  could  no  more  fasten  upon  them.  He  dropped 
his  arm  away  and  opened  his  hand,  and  the  white  pieces 
fluttered  in  a  little  cloud  to.  the  floor. 

Presently  he  drew  himself  up  to  the  table  and  began  to 
write,  writing  very  slowly  because  his  hand  trembled  so. 
In  half  an  hour  he  blotted  the  few  lines  on  the  last  sheet : 


220  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  .  .  .  So,  simply  what  I  want  to  do  is  to  let  our  step 
—  if  we  take  it  —  be  mine,  not  yours.  We  shall  forget 
absolutely  that  you  ever  wrote.  It 's  as  though  it  had 
never  been  written.  On  Tuesday  I  will  write  and  ask 
you,  '  Shall  I  come  up  to  you?'  So  if  you  say  '  Yes  ' 
the  action  will  have  been  entirely  mine.  It  will  start  from 
there.  This  has  n't  happened.  And  during  these  days  in 
between,  just  think  like  anything  over  what  I  've  said. 
Honour  can't  have  any  degree,  Nona,  any  more  than, 
truth  can  have  any  degree :  whatever  else  the  world  can 
quibble  to  bits  it  can't  partition  those :  truth  is  just  truth 
and  honour  is  just  honour.  And  a  marriage  vow  is  a 
pledge  of  honour  like  any  other  pledge  of  honour,  and 
if  one  breaks  it  one  breaks  one's  honour,  never  mind 
what  the  excuse  is.  There  's  no  conceivable  way  of  ar 
guing  out  of  that.  That 's  what  I  shall  ask  you  to  do  on, 
Tuesday  and  I  'm  just  warning  you  so  you  shall  have 
time  to  think  beforehand." 

He  took  his  pen,  and  steadied  his  hand,  and  wrote : 

"  And  your  reply,  when  I  ask  you,  whichever  it  is, 
shall  bring  me  light  into  darkness,  unutterable  darkness. 
— M." 

He  could  hear  the  homeward  movements  about  the 
office.  It  was  time  to  go.  He  wheeled  his  bicycle  to  the 
letter  box  at  the  corner  of  The  Precincts.  As  he  dropped 
in  his  letter,  the  evening  edition  of  Pike's  paper  came 
bawling  around  the  corner. 

AUSTRIA 

DECLARES    WAR 

ON    SERVIA 

He  shook  his  head  at  the  paper  the  boy  held  out  to 
him  and  rode  away.  What  had  that  kind  of  thing  to  do 
with  him? 


IF    WINTER    COMES  221 

VIII 

Unutterable  darkness!  He  lived  within  it  during  the 
days  that  followed  while  he  awaited  the  day  appointed 
to  write  to  Nona  again.  He  had  put  away  that  for  which, 
with  a  longing  that  was  almost  physical  in  its  pain,  his 
spirit  craved ;  and  craved  the  more  terribly  for  his  denial 
of  it.  Whatever  she  said  when  he  asked,  whichever  way 
she  answered  him,  he  would  be  brought  relief  from  his 
intolerable  stress.  If  she  maintained  honour  above  love, 
his  weakness,  he  knew,  would  be  welded  into  strength, 
as  the  presence  of  another  brings  enormous  support  to 
timidity;  if  she  declared  for  love,  —  his  mind  surged 
within  him  at  the  imagination  of  bursting  away  once  and 
for  ever  the  squeamish  principles  which  for  years,  hedg 
ing  about  his  conduct  on  this  side  and  on  that,  had  profited 
nothing  those  on  whose  behalf  they  had  been  erected  and 
his  own  life  had  desolated  into  barrenness. 

He  was  little  disposed,  in  these  dismays  and  in  this 
darkness,  to  divert  attention  to  the  international  dis 
turbances  which  now  were  rumbling  across  the  news 
papers  in  portentous  and  enormous  headlines.  Ireland 
was  pressed  away.  It  was  all  Europe  now  —  thrones, 
chancelleries,  councils,  armies.  He  tried  to  say,  "  What 
of  it?  "  Many  in  Great  Britain  tried  to  say,  "  What  of 
it  ?  "  Crises  and  deadlocks  again !  Meaningless  and 
empty  words,  for  months  and  years  past  worked  to 
death  and  rendered  hollow  as  empty  vessels.  Some  one 
would  climb  down.  Some  one  always  climbed  down. 

Nobody  climbed  down. 

The  cauldron  whose  seething  and  bubbling  had  enter 
tained  some,  fidgeted  some,  some  nothing  at  all  con 
cerned,  suddenly  boiled  over,  and  poured  in  boiling  fat 
upon  the  flames,  and  poured  in  flames  upon  the  hearth  of 
everv  man's  concerns. 


222  IF    WINTER    COMES 

On  Friday  the  Stock  Exchange  closed.  On  Saturday 
Germany  declared  war  on  Russia.  In  Sunday's  papers 
Sabre  read  of  the  panic  run  on  the  banks,  people  fighting 
to  convert  their  notes  into  gold.  One  London  bank  had 
suspended  payment.  Many  had  shut  out  failure  only  by 
minuses  when  midday  permitted  them  to  close  their 
doors.  People  were  besieging  the  provision  shops  to  lay 
in  stores  of  food. 

And  poured  in  flames  upon  the  hearth  of  every  man's 
concerns.  .  .  . 

All  his  concerns,  the  crisis  with  Nona,  with  his  honour 
and  his  love,  that  awaited  determination,  were  disputed 
their  place  in  his  mind  by  the  incredible  and  enormous 
events  that  each  new  hour  discharged  upon  the  world. 
He  watched  them  as  one  might  be  watching  a  burning 
building  and  feeling  at  every  moment  that  the  roof  will 
crash  in,  yet  somehow  feeling  that  it  cannot  and  will 
not  fall  in.  The  thing  was  gone  beyond  possibility  of 
recovery,  there  terribly  arose  now  the  urgency  for  Great 
Britain  to  declare  for  honour,  yet  somehow  he  felt  that 
it  could  not  and  would  not  fail  to  be  averted.  It  could 
not  happen. 

It  did  happen.  On  Tuesday  the  mounting  amazements 
burst  amain.  On  Tuesday  the  roof  that  could  not  fall 
in  fell  in.  On  Tuesday,  the  day  appointed  for  his  letter 
to  Nona,  he  uttered  in  realisation  that  which,  uttered  in 
speculation,  had  been  meaningless  as  an  unknown  word 
spoken  in  a  foreign  tongue:  "War!" 

IX 

The  news  of  Tuesday  morning  caused  him  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening  to  have  been  standing  two  hours  in  the 
great  throng  that  filled  Market  Square  gazing  towards 
the  offices  of  the  County  Times.  Our  mobilisation,  our 


IF   WINTER    COMES  223 

resolve  to  stand  by  France  if  the  German  Fleet  came  into 
the  Channel,  lastly,  most  awfully  pregnant  of  all,  our 
obligations  to  Belgium,  —  that  had  been  the  morning's 
news,  conveyed  in  the  report  of  Sir  Edward  Grey's 
statement  in  the  House  of  Commons.  That  afternoon 
the  Prime  Minister  was  to  make  a  statement. 

A  great  murmur  swelled  up  from  the  waiting  crowd, 
a  great  movement  pressed  it  forward  towards  the  County 
Times  offices.  On  the  first-floor  balcony  men  appeared 
dragging  a  great  board  faced  with  paper,  on  the  paper 
enormous  lettering.  The  board  was  pulled  out  endways. 
The  man  last  through  the  window  took  a  step  forward 
and  swung  the  letters  into  view. 

PREMIER'S    STATEMENT 


ULTIMATUM  TO  GERMANY 
EXPIRES    MIDNIGHT 

Sabre  said  aloud,  "  My  God!     War!  " 

As  a  retreating  wave  harshly  withdrawing  upon  the 
reluctant  pebbles,  there  sounded  from  the  crowd  an  enor 
mous  intaking  of  the  breath.  An  instant's  stupendous 
silence,  the  wave  poised  for  return.  Down !  A  shattering 
roar,  tremendous,  wordless.  The  figure  of  Pike  appeared 
upon  the  balcony,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  his  long  hair  wild 
about  his  face,  in  his  hands  that  which  caught  the  roar 
as  it  were  by  the  throat,  stopped  it  and  broke  it  out  anew 
on  a  burst  of  exultant  clamour.  A  Union  Jack.  He 
shook  it  madly  with  both  hands  above  his  head.  The 
roar  broke  into  a  tremendous  chant.  "  God  Save  the 
King!" 

Sabre  pressed  his  way  out  of  the  Square.  He  kept  say 
ing  to  himself,  "  War  .  .  .  War  ..."  He  found  him 
self  running  to  the  office;  no  one  was  in  the  office;  then 


224  IF   WINTER    COMES 

getting  out  his  bicycle  with  frantic  haste,  then  riding 
home,  —  hard. 

And  he  kept  saying,  "  War!  " 

He  thought,  "  Otway ! "  and  before  his  eyes  appeared 
a  vision  of  Otway  with  those  little  beads  of  perspiration 
on  his  nose. 

War  —  he  could  n't  get  any  further  than  that.  Like 
the  systole  and  diastole  of  a  slowly  beating  pulse,  the 
word  kept  on  forming  in  his  mind  and  welling  away  in  a 
tide  of  confused  and  amorphous  scenes;  and  forming 
again;  and  again  oozing  in  presentments  of  speculations, 
scenes,  surmises,  and  in  profound  disturbances  of  strange 
emotions.  War.  .  .  And  there  kept  appearing  the  face  of 
Otway  with  the  little  points  of  perspiration  about  his 
nose.  Otway  had  predicted  this  months  ago.  —  And  he 
was  right.  It  had  come. 

War. 


CHAPTER    IV 
I 

HE  approached  Penny  Green  and  realised  for  the  first 
time  the  hard  pace  at  which  he  had  been  riding.  And 
realised  also  the  emotions  which  subconsciously  had  been 
driving  him  along.  All  the  way  he  had  been  saying 
"  War !  "  What  lie  wanted,  most  terribly,  was  to  say  it 
aloud  to  some  one.  He  wanted  to  say  it  to  Mabel.  He 
had  a  sudden  great  desire  to  see  Mabel  and  tell  her  about 
it  and  talk  to  her  about  it.  He  felt  a  curiously  protective 
feeling  towards  her.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
pedalled  instead  of  free-wheeling  the  conclusion  of  the 
ride.  He  ran  into  the  house  and  into  the  morning  room. 
Mabel  was  not  there.  It  was  almost  dinner  time.  She 
would  be  in  her  room.  He  ran  upstairs.  She  was  stand 
ing  before  her  dressing  table  and  turned  to  him  in  sur^ 
prise. 

"Whatever  —  " 

"I  say,  it's  war!" 

She  echoed  the  word.     "  War?  " 

"  Yes,   war.     We  Ve   declared   war !  " 

"Declared  war?" 

"  Yes,  declared  war.  We  Ve  sent  Germany  an  ulti 
matum.  It  ends  to-night.  It 's  the  same  thing.  It  means 
war." 

He  was  breathless,  panting.  She  said,  "  Good  gra 
cious  !  Whatever  will  happen  ?  Have  you  brought  an 
evening  paper  ?  Do  you  know  the  papers  did  n't  come 
this  morning  till  —  " 


226  IF    WINTER    COMES 

He  could  not  hear  her  out.  "  No,  I  did  n't  wait.  I 
simply  rushed  away."  He  was  close  to  her.  He  took 
her  hands.  "  I  say,  Mabel,  it 's  war."  His  emotions  were 
tumultuous  and  extraordinary.  He  wanted  to  draw  her 
to  him  and  kiss  her.  They  had  not  kissed  for  longer 
than  he  could  have  remembered;  but  now  he  held  her 
hands  hard  and  desired  to  kiss  her.  "  I  say,  it's  war." 

She  gave  her  sudden  burst  of  laughter.  "  You  are 
excited.  I  've  never  seen  you  so  excited.  Your  collar 's 
undone." 

He  dropped  her  hands.  He  said  rather  stupidly, 
"  Well,  it 's  war,  you  know,"  and  stood  there. 

She  turned  to  her  dressing  table.  "  Well,  I  do  wish 
you  'd  stayed  for  a  paper.  Now  we  Ve  got  to  wait  till 
to-morrow  and  goodness  only  knows  —  "  She  was  fas 
tening  something  about  her  throat  and  held  her  breath 
in  the  operation.  She  released  it  and  said,  "  Just  fancy, 
war!  I  never  thought  it  would  be.  What  will  happen 
first?  Will  they  —  "  She  held  her  breath  again.  She 
said,  "  It 's  too  annoying  about  those  papers  coming  so 
late.  If  they  have  n't  arrived  when  you  go  off  to-morrow 
you  can  tell  Jones  he  need  n't  send  them  any  more.  He  's 
one  of  those  independent  sort  of  tradesmen  who  think 
they  can  do  just  what  they  like.  Just  fancy  actually  hav 
ing  war  with  Germany.  I  can't  believe  it."  She  turned 
towards  him  and  gave  her  sudden  laugh  again.  "  I  say, 
are  n't  you  ever  going  to  move?  " 

He  went  out  of  the  room  and  along  the  passage.  As 
he  reached  his  own  room  he  realised  it  again.  "  War  —  " 
He  went  quickly  back  to  Mabel.  "  I  say  — "  He  stopped. 
His  feelings  most  frightfully  desired  some  vent.  None 
here.  "  Look  here.  Don't  wait  dinner  for  me.  You 
start.  I  'm  going  round  to  Fargus  to  tell  him." 

At  the  hall  door  he  turned  back  and  went  hurriedly 
into  the  kitchen.  "  I  say,  it 's  war !  " 


IF    WINTER    COMES  227 

"  Well,  there  now !  "  cried  High  Jinks. 

"  Yes,  war.  We  've  sent  an  ultimatum  to  Germany. 
It  ends  to-night." 

Low  Jinks  threw  up  her  hands.  "  Well,  if  that  is  n't  a 
short  war !  " 

"  Girl  alive,  the  ultimatum  ends,  not  the  war.  Don't 
you  know  what  an  ultimatum  is  ?  " 

Outside  he  ran  down  the  drive  and  ran  to  Fargus's 
door.  It  stood  open.  In  the  hall  the  eldest  Miss  Fargus 
appeared  to  be  maintaining  the  last  moment  before  dinner 
by  "  doing  "  a  silver  card  salver. 

"Hullo,  Miss  Fargus.  I  say,  is  your  father  about? 
I  say,  it 's  war.  We  Ve  declared  war !  " 

The  eldest  Miss  Fargus  lifted  her  head  to  another  Miss 
Fargus  also  "  doing  "  something  on  the  stairs  above  her, 
and  in  a  very  high  voice  called,  "  Papa!  War!  " 

The  staircase  Miss  Fargus  took  it  up  immediately. 
"  Papa !  War !  "  and  Sabre  heard  it  go  echoing  through 
the  house,"  Papa!  War!  Papa!  War!  Papa!  War!" 

"  How  terrible,  how  dreadful,  how  frightful,  how 
awful,"  said  the  eldest  Miss  Fargus.  "  You  must  excuse 
me  shaking  hands,  but  as  you  see  I  am  over  pink  plate 
powder.  I  'm  not  surprised.  We  were  discussing  it  only 
at  breakfast;  and  for  my  part,  though  Julie,  Rosie,  Poppy 
and  Bunchy  were  against  me,  I  —  "  She  broke  off  to 
turn  and  take  her  portion  in  a  new  chorus  now  filling  the 
house.  Sounds  of  some  one  descending  the  stairs  at 
break-neck  speed  were  heard,  and  the  chorus  shrilled, 
"  Papa,  take  care!  Papa,  take  care!  Papa,  take  care!  " 

Mr.  Fargus's  grey  little  figure  came  terrifically  down 
the  last  flight  and  up  the  hall,  a  cloud  of  female  Farguses 
in  his  wake.  He  ran  to  Sabre  with  hands  outstretched 
and  grasped  Sabre's  hands  and  wrung  them.  "  Sabre ! 
Sabre!  What's  this?  Really?  Truly?  War?  We've 
declared  war?  Well,  I  say,  thank  God!  Thank  God! 


228  IF    WINTER    COMES 

I  was  afraid.  I  was  terribly  afraid  we  'd  stand  out.  But 
thank  God,  England  is  England  still.  .  >?.  .  And  will  be, 
Sabre ;  and  will  be !  "  He  released  Sabre's  hands  and 
took  out  a  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  eyes.  "  I  prayed 
for  this,"  he  said.  "  I  prayed  for  God  to  be  in  Downing 
Street  last  night." 

The  chorus,  unpleasantly  shocked  at  the  idea  of  God 
being  asked  to  go  to  Downing  Street,  said  in  a  low  but 
stern  tone,  "  Papa,  hush.  Papa,  hush.  Papa,  hush"; 
but  Sabre  had  come  for  this  excited  wringing  of  his 
hands  and  for  this  emotion.  It  was  what  he  had  been 
seeking  ever  since  Pike's  notice  board  had  swung  the 
news  before  his  eyes.  When  presently  he  left  he  carried 
with  him  that  which,  when  his  mind  would  turn  to  it, 
caused  his  heart  to  swell  enormously  within  him.  Through 
the  evening,  and  gone  to  bed  and  lying  awake  long  into 
the  night,  he  was  at  intervals  caught  up  from  the  dark 
and  oppressive  pictures  of  his  mind  by  surging  onset  of 
the  emotions  that  came  with  Mr.  Fargus's  emotion. 
War.  .  .  His  spirit  answered,  "England !  " 

II 

Lying  awake,  he  thought  of  Nona.  He  had  not  written 
the  letter  to  her.  The  appointed  day  was  past  and  he  had 
not  written.  He  would  have  said,  during  that  unutterable 
darkness  in  which  he  had  awaited  it,  that  not  the  turning 
of  the  world  upside  down  would  have  prevented  him 
writing;  but  the  world  had  turned  upside  down.  It  was 
not  a  board  Pike's  men  had  swung  around  in  that  appal 
ling  moment  when  he  had  watched  them  appear  on  the 
balcony.  It  was  the  accustomed  and  imponderable  world, 
awfully  unbalanced.  Nona  would  understand.  Nona 
always  understood  everything.  He  wondered  how  she 
had  maintained  this  terrific  dav.  He  was  assured  that 


IF    WINTER    COMES  229 

he  knew.  She  would  have  felt  just  as  he  had  felt.  He 
thought,  with  a  most  passionate  longing  for  her,  that  he 
would  have  given  anything  to  have  been  able  to  turn  to 
her  when  he  had  exclaimed,  "  My  God,  war  ",  and  to  have 
caught  her  hands  and  looked  into  her  beautiful  face.  To 
morrow  he  would  send  the  letter.  To-morrow?  Why, 
yes,  to-day,  like  all  to-days  in  the  removed  and  placid 
light  of  all  to-morrows,  would  be  shown  needlessly  hectic. 
Ten  to  one  something  would  have  happened  in  the  night 
to  make  to-day  look  foolish.  If  nothing  had  happened, 
if  it  still  was  war,  it  could  only  be  a  swiftly  over  business, 
a  rapid  and  general  recognition  of  the  impossibility  of 
war  in  modern  conditions. 

Disturbingly  upon  these  thoughts  appeared  the  face  of 
Otway,  the  little  beads  of  perspiration  about  his  nose. 

His  consciousness  stumbled  away  into  the  mazy  woods 
of  sleep,  and  turned,  and  all  night  sought  to  return,  and 
stumbled  sometimes  to  its  knees  among  the  drowsy  snares, 
and  saw  strange  mirages  of  the  round  world  horrifically 
tilted  with  "  War  "  upon  its  face,  of  Nona  held  away  and 
not  approachable,  of  intense  light  and  of  suffocating  dark 
ness;  and  rousing  and  struggling  away  from  these,  and 
stumbling  yet,  rarely  succumbing. 

Ill 

When  he  went  down  into  Tidborough  in  the  morning 
it  was  to  know  at  once  that  this  to-morrow  gave  no  lie  to 
its  precedent  day.  It  intensified  it.  The  previous  day 
foreshadowed  war.  The  new  day  presented  it. 

The  papers,  as  it  happened,  did  not  arrive  before  he 
left,  and  Mabel  had  more  to  say  of  her  annoyance  with 
the  insufferable  Jones  than  of  what  his  withheld  wares 
might  contain.  Her  attitude  towards  the  international 
position  was  —  up  to  this  point  of  its  development  —  pre 
cisely  this :  she  had  been  following  the  crisis  day  by  day 


230  IF   WINTER    COMES 

with  appreciation  of  its  sensational  headlines  while  these 
were  in  the  paper  before  her,  but  without  further  interest 
when  the  paper  was  read.  She  folded  up  the  thrones,  the 
chancelleries,  the  councils,  the  armies  and  the  peoples 
and  put  them  away  in  the  brass  newspaper  rack  in  the 
morning  room  and  proceeded  about  her  duties  and  her  en 
gagements.  But  she  liked  unfolding  them  and  she  was 
thoroughly  annoyed  with  the  insufferable  Jones  for  pre 
venting  her  from  unfolding  them.  She  said  she  would 
come  down  into  Tidborough  and  speak  to  Jones  herself. 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Sabre.    "  There  '11  be  things  to  see." 

There  were  things  to  see.  As  he  rode  into  the  town 
people  were  standing  about  in  little  groups,  excitedly 
talking;  every  one  seemed  to  have  a  newspaper.  In  a 
row,  as  he  approached  the  news  agent's,  were  hugely 
printed  contents  bills,  all  with  the  news,  in  one  form  or 
another,  "  War  Declared." 

It  was  war.  Yesterday  no  dream.  He  could  not  stop 
to  rest  his  bicycle  against  the  curb.  He  leant  it  over  and 
dropped  it  on  the  pavement  with  a  crash  and  hurried  into 
the  shop  and  bought  and  read. 

War.  .  .  He  looked  out  into  the  street  through  the  open 
doorway.  All  those  knots  of  people  standing  talking. 
War.  .  .  A  mounted  orderly  passed  down  the  street  at  a 
brisk  trot,  his  dispatch  bag  swaying  and  bumping  across 
his  back.  Every  one  turned  and  stared  after  him,  stepped 
out  into  the  roadway  and  stared  after  him.  War.  .  .  He 
bought  all  the  morning  papers  and  went  on  to  the  office. 
Outside  a  bank  a  small  crowd  of  people  waited  about  the 
doors.  They  were  waiting  to  draw  out  their  money. 
Lloyd  George  had  announced  the  closing  of  the  banks  for 
three  days ;  but  they  did  n't  believe  it  was  real.  Was  it 
real  ?  He  passed  Hanbury's,  the  big  grocer's.  It  seemed 
to  be  crammed.  People  outside  waiting  to  get  in.  They 
were  buying  up  food.  A  woman  struggled  her  way  out 


IF    WINTER    COMES  231 

with  three  tins  of  fruit,  a  pot  of  jam  and  a  bag  of  flour. 
She  seemed  thoroughly  well  pleased  with  herself.  He 
heard  her  say  to  some  one,  "  Well,  I  've  got  mine,  any 
way."  He  actually  had  a  sense  of  reassurance  from  her 
grotesque  provisioning.  He  thought,  "  You  see,  every 
one  knows  it  can't  last  long." 

IV 

No  one  in  the  office  was  pretending  to  do  any  work. 
As  in  the  street,  all  were  in  groups  eagerly  talking.  The 
clerks'  room  resounded  with  excited  discussion.  Every 
body  wanted  to  talk  to  somebody.  He  went  into  Mr.  For 
tune's  room.  Mr.  Fortune  and  Twyning  and  Harold 
were  gathered  round  a  map  cut  from  a  newspaper,  all 
talking;  even  young  Harold  giving  views  and  being  at 
tentively  listened  to.  They  looked  up  and  greeted  him 
cordially.  Everybody  was  cordial  and  communicative  to 
everybody.  "  Come  along  in,  Sabre."  He  joined  them 
and  he  found  their  conversation  extraordinarily  reassur 
ing,  like  the  woman  who  had  sufficiently  provisioned  with 
three  tins  of  fruit,  a  pot  of  jam  and  a  bag  of  flour.  They 
knew  a  tremendous  lot  about  it  and  had  evidently  been, 
reading  military  articles  for  days  past.  They  all  showed 
what  was  going  to  be  done,  illustrating  it  on  the  map. 
And  the  map  itself  was  extraordinarily  reassuring:  as 
Twyning  showed  —  his  fingers  covering  the  whole  of  the 
belligerent  countries  —  while  the  Germans  were  deliver 
ing  all  their  power  down  here,  in  Belgium,  the  Russians 
simply  nipped  in  here  and  would  be  threatening  Berlin 
before  those  fools  knew  where  they  were ! 

He  thought,  "  By  Jove,  yes." 

"  And  granted,"  said  Mr.  Fortune  —  Mr.  Fortune  was 
granting  propositions  right  and  left  with  an  amiability 
out  of  all  keeping  with  his  normal  stubbornness  —  "  and 
granted  that  Germany  can  put  into  the  field  the  enormous 


232  IF   WINTER    COMES 

numbers  you  mention,  Twyning,  what  use  are  they  to  her  ? 
None.  No  use  whatever.  I  was  talking  last  night  to 
Sir  James  Boulder.  His  son  has  been  foreign  correspond 
ent  to  one  of  the  London  papers  for  years.  He  's  at 
tended  the  army  manoeuvres  in  Germany,  France,  Aus 
tria  —  everywhere.  He  knows  modern  military  condi 
tions  through  and  through,  as  you  may  say.  Well,  he 
says  —  and  it 's  obvious  when  you  think  of  it  —  that 
Germany  can't  possibly  use  her  enormous  masses.  No 
room  for  them.  Only  the  merest  fraction  can  ever  get 
into  action.  Where  they  're  coming  in  is  like  crowding 
into  the  neck  of  a  bottle.  Two  thirds  of  them  uselessly 
jammed  up  behind.  A  mere  handful  can  hold  them 
up-" 

Harold  put  in,  "  Yes,  and  those  terrific  fortresses,  sir/' 
"  Precisely.  Precisely.  Liege,  Namur,  Antwerp  — 
absolutely  impregnable,  all  the  military  correspondents 
say  so.  Impregnable.  Well,  then.  There  you  are.  It 's 
like  sending  a  thousand  men  to  fight  in  a  street.  Look 
here  —  "  He  went  vigorously  to  the  window.  They  all 
went  to  the  window;  Sabre  with  them,  profoundly  im 
pressed.  Mr.  Fortune  pointed  into  the  street.  E<  There. 
That 's  what  it  is.  Here  comes  your  German  army 
down  this  way  from  the  cathedral.  Choked.  Blocked. 
Immovable  mob.  How  many  do  you  suppose  could  hold 
them  up?  Thirty,  twenty,  a  dozen.  Hold  them  up  and 
throw  them  into  hopeless  and  utter  disorder.  Pah !  Sim 
ple,  is  n't  it  ?  I  don't  suppose  the  thing  will  last  a  month. 
What  do  you  say,  Sabre?  " 

Sabre  was  feeling  considerably  more  at  ease.  He  felt 
that  the  first  shock  of  the  thing  had  made  him  take  an 
exaggerated  view.  "  I  don't  see  how  it  can,"  he  said, 
"  now  I  'm  hearing  a  bit  more  about  it.  I  was  thinking 
just  now  what  a  dramatic  thing  it  would  be  if  it  lasted  — 
of  course  it  can't  —  but  if  it  lasted  till  next  June  and  the 


IF   WINTER   COMES  233 

decisive  battle  was  fought  in  June,  1915,  just  a  hundred 
years  after  Waterloo.  That  would  be  dramatic,  eh  ?  " 

They  all  laughed,  and  Sabre,  realising  the  preposter- 
ousness  of  such  a  notion,  laughed  with  them.  Twyning 
said,  "  Next  June !  Imagine  it !  At  the  very  outside  it 
will  be  wrell  over  by  Christmas." 

And  they  all  agreed,  "  Oh,  rather!  " 


It  was  all  immensely  reassuring,  and  Sabre  gathered 
up  his  bundle  of  papers  and  went  into  his  room,  feeling 
on  the  whole  rather  pleasurably  excited  than  otherwise. 
But  as  he  read,  column  after  column  and  paper  after 
paper,  measures  that  had  been  taken  by  the  Government, 
orders  to  Army  and  Naval  reservists,  the  impending  call 
for  men,  the  scenes  in  the  streets  of  London,  and  with 
these  the  deeply  grave  tone  of  the  leading  articles,  the 
tremendous  statistics  and  the  huge  foreshadowing  of  cer 
tain  of  the  military  correspondents,  the  breathless  news 
already  from  the  seats  of  war,  —  as  his  mind  thus  re 
ceived  there  returned  to  it  its  earlier  sense  of  enormous 
oppression  and  tremendous  conjecture.  War.  .  .  .  Eng 
land.  .  .  .  The  first  sentence  of  his  history,  now  greatly 
advanced,  came  tremendously  into  his  mind :  "  This  Eng 
land  you  live  in  is  yours.  .  .  .  "  And  now  at  war  — • 
challenged  —  threatened  — 

It  surged  enormously  within  him.  He  got  up.  He 
must  go  out  into  the  streets  and  see  what  was  happening. 

The  day  wore  on.  He  felt  extraordinarily  shy  and 
self-conscious  about  the  performance  of  a  matter  that 
had  entered  his  mind  with  that  surging  uplift  of  his  feel 
ings.  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  he 
took  himself  to  it  and  then,  leaving  its  place,  he  unexpect 
edly  encountered  Mabel.  She  was  just  going  into  the 
station.  She  had  come  in,  as  she  had  proposed,  and  she 


234  IF   WINTER    COMES 

told  him  what  she  had  said  to  Jones  and  what  Jones  had 
said  to  her.     "  Abominably  rude  man." 

Then  she  asked  him,  "  Was  that  Doctor  Anderson's 
gate  you  came  out  of  just  now?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  Whatever  had  you  been  to  see  him  about?  " 
He  flushed.    He  never  could  invent  an  excuse  when  he 
wanted  one.    "  I  'd  been  asking  him  to  have  a  look  at  me." 
"Whatever  for?" 
"  Oh,  nothing  particular." 

"  You  could  n't  have  been  to  see  him  for  nothing." 
"  Well,  practically  nothing.  You  remember  when  I 
increased  my  life  insurance  some  time  ago  they  said  my 
heart  was  a  bit  groggy  and  made  a  bit  of  a  fuss?  Well, 
I  thought  I  'd  just  see  again  so  as  to  get  out  of  paying 
that  higher  premium." 

"  Oh,  that.    What  nonsense  it  was.    What  did  he  say  ?  " 
"  Said  I  had  a  murmur  or  some  rot.    I  say,  if  you  're 
going  back  now,  don't  wait  dinner  for  me  to-night.     I  '11 
get  something  here.    The  Evening  Times  is  bringing  out 
a  special  edition  at  nine  o'clock.    I  'd  like  to  wait  for  it." 
She  assented,  "  Yes,  bring  home  the  paper.!' 
He  went   into  the   office.     The   afternoon  post  had 
brought  letters  to  his  desk.     He  turned  them  over  with 
out  interest,  then  caught  up  one,  —  from  Nona. 

Marko,  this  frightful  war!  I  have  thanked  God  on  my 
knees  for  you  that  last  week  you  prevented  me.  If  I  had 
done  it  with  this !  Tony  has  rejoined  the  Guards,  he  was 
in  the  Reserve  of  Officers.  And  you  see  that  whatever  has 
been,  and  is,  dear,  he  's  my  man  to  stand  by  in  this.  Marko, 
it  would  have  been  too  awful  if  I  couldn't,  and  I  thank 
God  for  you,  again  and  again  and  again.  Nona. 

Twyning  appeared.  "  Hullo,  old  man,  heard  the  latest  ? 
I  say,  you  look  as  if  you're  ready  to  take  on  the  whole 
world." 


CHAPTER    V 

I 

THE  enormous  and  imponderable  world  awfully  un 
balanced.  Upside  down.  Extraordinarily  unreal.  Furi 
ously  real. 

Life,  which  had  been  a  thing  of  the  clock  and  of  the 
calendar,  became  a  thing  of  events  in  which  there  was  no 
time,  only  events. 

Things  began  one  day  very  shortly  after  the  declara 
tion  of  war  when,  passing  the  barracks  on  his  way  home,, 
Sabre  was  accosted  and  taken  into  the  Mess  by  Cottar,  a 
subaltern  of  the  Pinks. 

"  You  must  come  along  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea," 
young  Cottar  urged.  "  We  've  got  a  hell  of  a  jamborino 
on.  At  least  we  shall  have  to-night.  We  're  just  work 
ing  up  for  it.  I  can't  tell  you  why.  You  can  guess." 

Sabre  felt  a  sudden  catch  at  his  emotions.  "  Is  the 
regiment  going?  " 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  anteroom.  Cottar  swung 
it  open.  The  room  was  full  of  men  and  tobacco  smoke 
and  noise.  A  very  tall  youth,  one  Sikes,  was  standing 
on  the  table,  a  glass  in  his  hand.  "  Hullo,  Sabre !  Mess- 
man,  one  of  those  very  stiff  whiskies  for  Mr.  Sabre  — 
go  on,  Sabre,  you  must.  Because  —  "  He  had  not  Cot 
tar's  reticence.  He  burst  into  song,  waving  his  glass — • 
"  Because  — 

"  We  shan't  be  here  in  the  morning  — " 
They  all  took  it  up,  bawling  uproariously : 


236  IF    WINTER    COMES 

We  shan't  be  here  in  the  morning, 
We  shan't  be  here  in  the  morning, 
We  shan't  be  here  in  the  mor-or-ning, 
Before  the  break  of  day! 

Otway  came  in.  "  Shut  up,  you  noisy  young  fools. 
What  the  —  " 

Sikes  from  the  table.  "Ah,  Papa  Otway!  Three 
cheers  for  Papa  Otway  in  very  discreet  whispers.  Mess- 
man,  one  of  those  very  stiff  whiskies  for  Captain  Otway." 

Otway  laughed  pleasantly.  "  No,  chuck  it,  I  'm  not 
drinking.  Hood,  I  want  you;  and  you,  Carmichael,  and 
you,  Bullen."  He  saw  Sabre  and  came  to  him.  "  Hullo, 
Sabre.  You  've  heard  now.  We  've  managed  to  keep  it 
pretty  close,  but  it 's  all  over  the  place  now.  Yes,  we 
entrain  at  daybreak." 

Sabre  felt  frightfully  affected.  He  could  hardly  speak. 
"  Good  Lord.  I  can't  realise  it.  I  say,  Otway,  do  you 
remember  predicting  this  nearly  two  years  ago?  You 
said  this  would  find  us  all  unawares.  You  were  one  of 
the  people  every  one  laughed  at." 

Precisely  the  same  Otway  who  had  spoken  with  such 
extraordinary  intensity  outside  the  Corn  Exchange  eigh 
teen  months  before  began  to  speak  with  extraordinary 
intensity  now.  "  That  ?  Oh,  I  don't  give  a  damn  for 
any  of  that  now.  This  is  our  show  now,  Sabre.  The 
Army's  show.  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  what  happens  at 
home  now.  This  is  our  show.  Sabre,  you  don't  know 
what  this  is  for  me.  I  've  lived  for  this,  dreamt  about  it, 
thought  about  it,  eaten  it,  drunk  it  ever  since  I  was  a  kid  at 
Sandhurst.  Now  it 's  come.  By  God,  it 's  come  at  last ! " 

The  same  Otway!  Positively  the  little  beads  of  per 
spiration  were  shining  about  his  nose.  His  eyes  scintil 
lated  an  extraordinary  light.  He  said,  "  By  God,  Sabre, 
you  ought  to  have  seen  the  battalion  on  parade  this  morn 
ing  !  By  God,  they  were  magnificent.  They  're  the  finest 


IF   WINTER    COMES  237 

thing  that  ever  happened.  There  's  nothing  in  the  Army 
List  to  touch  us.  When  I  think  I  '11  be  in  action  with 
them  perhaps  inside  a  week  —  I  —  " 

An  orderly  approached  and  spoke  to  him.  "  Right. 
Right.  I  '11  come  along  at  once."  He  was  swiftly  away. 
"  Patterson,  I  want  you  too.  There  's  a  man  in  your 
company  says  his  wife  — " 

And,  stilled  during  his  presence,  babel  broke  out  anew 
with  his  departure.  Some  one,  standing  on  a  sofa,  caught 
up  Otway's  last  word  into  a  bawling  song  — 

I  Ve  got  a  wife  and  sixteen  kids, 
I  Ve  got  a  wife  and  sixteen  kids, 
I  Ve  got  a  wife  and  — • 

A  cushion  whizzed  across  the  room  into  his  face.  A 
tag  began.  Sikes  on  the  table  was  laying  down  laws  of 
equipment  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  Well,  I  'm  going  to 
take  nothing  but  socks.  I  'm  going  to  stuff  my  pack 
absolutely  bung  full  of  socks.  Man  alive,  I  tell  you  noth 
ing  matters  except  socks.  .If  you  can  keep  on  getting 
clean  socks  every  —  I  'm  going  to  stuff  in  socks  enough 
to  last  me  —  "  1 

II 

The  blessed  gift  in  the  war  was  to  be  without  imagina 
tion.  The  supreme  trial,  whether  in  endurance  on  the 
part  of  those  who  stayed  at  home,  or  in  courage  on  the 
part  of  those  who  took  the  field,  was  upon  those  whose 
mentality  invested  every  sight  and  every  happening  with 
the  poignancy  of  attributes  not  present  but  imagined. 
For  Sabre  the  war  definitely  began  with  that  visit  to  the 
Mess  on  the  eve  of  the  Pinks'  departure.  The  high  ex- 

1A  very  short  time  afterwards,  while  the  incident  was  fresh  in 
his  memory,  Sabre  heard  that  Sikes  took  out  eleven  pairs  of  socks 
and  was  killed,  at  Mons,  in  the  pair  he  landed  in. 


238  IF   WINTER   COMES 

citement  of  the  young  men,  their  eager  planning,  the  al 
most  religious  ecstasy  of  Otway  at  the  consummation  of 
his  life's  dream,  moved  Sabre,  visioning  what  might 
await  it  all,  in  depths  profound  and  painful  in  their  in 
tensity.  His  mind  would  not  abandon  them.  He  sat  up 
that  night  after  Mabel  had  gone  to  her  room.  How  on 
..earth  could  he  go  to  bed,  be  hoggishly  sleeping,  while 
:those  chaps  were  marching  out  ? 

He  could  not.  At  two  in  the  morning  he  went  quietly 
from  the  house  and  got  out  his  bicycle  and  rode  down  into 
'Tidborough. 

He  was  just  in  time.  The  news  had  been  well  kept,  or 
in  those  early  days  had  not  the  meaning  it  came  to  have. 
Nevertheless  a  few  people  stood  about  the  High  Street  in 
-;the  thin  light  of  the  young  morning,  and  when,  almost 
immediately,  the  battalion  came  swinging  out  of  the  Mar 
ket  Place,  many  appeared  flanking  it,  mostly  women. 

"  Here  they  come !  " 

Frightful  words!  Sabre  caught  them  from  a  young 
woman  spoken  to  a  very  old  woman  whose  arm  she  held  a 
few  paces  from  where  he  stood.  Frightful  words!  He 
caught  his  breath,  and,  more  dreadfully  upon  his  emo 
tions,  as  the  head  of  the  column  came  into  sight,  the  band, 
-taking  them  to  the  station,  burst  into  the  Pinks'  familiar 
f-quickstep. 

The  Camp  Town  races  are  five  miles  long, 

Doo-da !  Doo-da ! 

The  Camp  Town  races  are  five  miles  long, 

Doo-da !  Doo-da !  Day ! 

Gwine  to  run  all  night.     Gwine  to  run  all  day. 

I  bet  my  money  on  the  bob-tail  nag, 

Somebody  bet  on  the  bay! 

He  never  in  his  life  had  experienced  anything  so  utterly 
-frightful  or  imagined  that  anything  could  be  so  utterly 
it  rightful.  His  throat  felt  bursting.  His  eyes  were  filled. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  239 

They  were  swinging  past  him,  file  by  file.  Doo-da! 
Doo-da!  Day!  He  scarcely  could  see  them.  They  were 
marching  at  ease,  their  rifles  slung.  They  seemed  to  be 
appallingly  laden  with  stupendous  packs  and  multitudi 
nous  equipment.  A  tin  mug  and  God  knows  what  else 
beside  swung  and  rattled  about  their  thighs.  The  women 
with  them  were  running  to  keep  up,  and  dragging  chil 
dren,  and  stretching  hands  into  the  ranks,  and  crying  — 
all  crying. 

.  .  .  Doo-da !     Doo-da ! 
The  Camp  Town  races  are  five  miles  long, 

Doo-da !     Doo-da !     Day ! 

He  thought,  "  Damn  that  infernal  music."  He  wiped 
his  eyes.  This  was  impossible  to  bear  .  .  .  Doo-da! 
Doo-da!  A  most  frightful  thing  happened.  A  boy 
broke  out  of  the  ranks  and  came  running,  all  rattling  and 
jingling  with  swinging  accoutrements,  to  the  old  woman 
beside  Sabre,  put  his  arms  around  her  and  cried  in  a 
most  frightful  voice,  "  Mother!  Mother!  "  And  a  ser 
geant,  also  rattling  and  clanking,  dashed  up  and  bawled 
with  astounding  ferocity,  "  Get  back  into  the  bloody 
ranks !  "  And  the  boy  ran  on,  rattling.  And  the  old 
woman  collapsed  prone  upon  the  pavement.  And  the 
sergeant,  as  though  his  amazing  ferocity  had  been  the 
buttress  of  some  other  emotions,  bent  over  the  old  woman 
and  patted  her,  rattling,  and  said,  "  That 's  all  right, 
Mother.  That 's  all  right.  I  '11  look  after  him.  I  '11 
bring  him  back.  That 's  all  right,  Mother."  And  ran  on, 
jingling.  Doo-da!  Doo-da!  Day! 

Ill 

He  turned  away.  He  absolutely  could  not  bear  it.  He 
walked  a  few  paces  and  equally  could  not  forbear  to  stop 
and  look  again.  The  men  were  nearly  all  laughing  and 


240  IF    WINTER    COMES 

whistling  and  singing.  .  .  .  This  bursting  sensation  in 
all  his  emotions!  It  was  beyond  anything  he  had  ever 
experienced  before.  But  he  had  experienced  something 
like  it  before.  His  mind  threw  back  across  the  years  and 
presented  the  occasion  to  him.  It  was  when  he  was  a 
very  small  boy  in  his  first  term  at  Tidborough.  The 
Christmas  term  and  he  was  on  the  Strip,  trying  franti 
cally  behind  a  crowd  of  boys  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
match  in  progress,  —  one  of  the  great  matches  of  the 
season,  vs.  Tidborough  Town.  One  of  the  boys  against 
whose  waist  his  frantic  head  was  butting  turned  and 
said  in  a  lordly  way,  "  Let  that  kid  through,"  and  he  was 
roughly  bundled  to  a  front  position.  The  boy  who  had 
commanded  his  presence  jolted  him  in  the  back  with  his 
knee  and  said,  using  the  school  argot  for  to  cheer  or 
shout,  "  Swipe  up,  you  ghastly  young  ass!  Swipe  up! 
Can't  you  see  they  're  pressing  us?  " 

Couldn't  he  see!  He  felt  that  the  end  of  the  world 
was  coming  at  what  he  saw.  The  enormous,  full-grown 
town  men  were  almost  on  the  school  goal-line ;  the  school 
team  clinging  to  them  and  battling  with  them  like  tiger- 
cats.  He  had  only  been  at  Tidborough  a  month,  but  he 
felt  he  would  die  if  the  line  was  crossed.  He  swiped  till 
he  thought  his  throat  must  crack.  When  his  cracking 
throat  incontinently  took  intervals  of  rest,  he  prayed  to 
God  for  the  school,  visioning  God  on  his  throne  on  the 
school  goalposts  and  mentioning  to  Him  the  players 
whose  names  he  knew : 

"  Oh,  let  Barnwell  get  in  his  kick !  Oh,  do  let  Harris 
see  they  're  heeling  the  ball !  Oh,  help  Tufnell  to  get 
that  man!  Help  him!  Help  him!  Schoo-o-ool! 
Schoo-oo-ool !  Schoo-oo-ool !  " 

Doo-da!    Doo-da!    Day! 

His  bursting  heart  was  now  saying,  "England! 
England!" 


IF    WINTER    COMES  241 

IV 

The  column  passed  and  was  gone.  He  was  left  with 
his  most  frightful  feelings.  He  could  do  nothing  now. 
Four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  But  he  must  do  something 
now.  He  could  not  go  home  till  he  had.  He  must.  He 
followed  to  the  station.  The  men  were  entraining  in  the 
goods  yard.  He  waited  about,  not  trusting  himself  to 
speak  to  Otway  or  any  of  the  others  who  were  going. 
Presently  his  opportunity  came  in  a  sight  of  Colonel 
Rattray,  who  commanded  the  depot  and  was  not  going, 
standing  for  a  minute  alone.  Sabre  went  quickly  to  him 
and  they  exchanged  greetings  and  said  the  obvious  things 
proper  to  the  occasion.  Then  Sabre  said,  feeling  ex 
traordinarily  embarrassed,  "  I  say,  Colonel,  I  want  to  get 
into  this.  I  absolutely  must  get  into  this." 

"Eh?     Into  what?" 

"  The  war."  It  was  easier  after  the  plunge,  and  he 
went  on  quickly,  "  I  see  in  the  papers  that  civilians  are 
being  given  commissions,  getting  them  by  recommenda 
tion.  Can  you  get  me  a  commission?  Can  you?  " 

Colonel  Rattray  showed  surprise.  He  turned  squarely 
about  and  faced  Sabre  and  looked  him  up  and  down,  but 
not  in  the  way  in  which  soldiers  looked  civilians  up  and 
down  rather  later  on.  "  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  might. 
I  've  no  doubt  I  could,  if  you  're  eligible.  How  old  are 
you,  Sabre  ?  " 

"  Thirty-six." 

Colonel  Rattray  said  doubtfully,  "  It 's  a  bit  on  the 
steep  side  for  a  commission." 

"  Well,  I  'd  go  in  the  ranks.  I  must  get  in.  I  abso 
lutely  must." 

The  soldier  smiled  pleasantly.  "  Oh,  I  would  n't  get 
thinking  about  the  ranks,  Sabre.  There  're  heaps  before 
you,  you  know.  Still,  I  would  n't  stop  any  man  getting 


242  IF   WINTER    COMES 

into  the  Army  if  I  could  help  him.  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do. 
Certainly  I  will.  Mind  you,  I  'm  doubtful.  Are  you 
fit?" 

"  I  think  I  am.  I  'm  supposed  to  have  a  bit  of  a  heart. 
But  it 's  absolute  rot.  It  never  affects  me  in  the  slight 
est  degree.  I  can  do  anything." 

"  Well,  that 's  the  first  thing,  you  know.  Look  here, 
I  'm  wanted.  Come  up  to  the  Mess  in  the  morning  and 
I  '11  get  our  doctor  to  have  a  look  at  you.  Then  we  '11 
.see  what  can  be  done.  All  right,  eh?  " 

V 

He  rode  home  much  relieved  from  the  stresses  he  had 
suffered  in  that  awful  business  of  watching  the  regiment 
march  out.  He  felt  that  if  only  he  could  be  "  in  it  "  he 
could  equably  endure  any  of  these  things  that  were  hap 
pening  and  that  would  get  worse;  if  he  had  just  to  stand 
by  and  watch  them  his  portion  would  be  insupportable. 
England !  Other  people  whom  he  knew  could  not  possi 
bly  feel  it  in  the  way  he  felt  it.  His  history  with  its 
opening  sentence,  "  This  England  you  live  in  is  yours", 
had  arisen  out  of  his  passionate  love  for  all  that  England 
meant  to  him.  In  all  Shakespeare  there  was  no  passage 
that  moved  him  in  quite  the  same  way  whenever  he  re 
called  it  as  Richard  the  Second's 

Dear  earth,  I  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand  .  .  . 
Mock  not  my  senseless  conjuration,  lords, 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling  .  .  . 

Stooping  and  touching  the  soil  of  England  as  one 
might  bend  and  touch  a  beloved  face.  That  was  what 
England  for  years  had  meant  to  him.  And  now  .  .  . 
It  was  upon  these  emotions,  vaguely,  "  in  case  ",  that  he 
had  gone  to  Doctor  Anderson  on  the  morning  of  the 


IF    WINTER    COMES  245 

frightful  news.  Anderson  had  told  him  he  couldn't 
possibly  be  passed  for  the  Army,  but  at  the  moment  the 
idea  of  ever  wanting  to  go  into  the  Army  had  only  been 
an  almost  ridiculously  remote  contingency,  and  what  did 
Anderson  know  about  the  Army  standard,  anyway? 

VI 

He  said  nothing  to  Mabel  of  his  intention.  It  was  just 
precisely  the  sort  of  thing  he  could  not  possibly  discuss 
with  Mabel.  Mabel  would  say,  "  Whyever  should  you?  " 
and  of  all  imaginable  ordeals  the  idea  of  exposing  before 
Mabel  his  feeling  about  England  ...  he  would  tell  her 
when  it  was  done,  if  it  came  off.  He  could  say  then,  in 
what  he  knew  to  be  the  clumsy  way  in  which  he  had 
learnt  to  hide  his  ideas  from  her,  he  could  say,  "  Well,. 
I  had  to." 

And  his  thought  was,  when  a  few  hours  later  he  was 
walking  slowly  away  from  his  interview  with  Major 
Earnshaw,  the  doctor  at  the  barracks,  "  Thank  God,  I 
never  said  anything  to  Mabel  about  it." 

The  very  few  officers  left  behind  at  the  depot  were  at 
breakfast  when  he  arrived  to  keep  Colonel  Rattray  to  his 
word.  Major  Earnshaw  had  very  pleasantly  got  up 
from  the  table  to  "  put  him  out  of  his  misery  "  there  and 
then  without  formality  and  had  "  had  a  go  at  this  heart 
of  yours  "  in  the  billiard  room.  Withdrawn  his  stetho 
scope  and  shaken  his  head.  It  was  "no  go;  absolutely 
none,  Sabre." 

"  Well,  but  that 's  for  a  commission.  I  '11  go  into  the 
ranks.  Isn't  that  any  different?" 

No  different.  "  You  can't  possibly  go  in  as  you  are  — 
now.  In  time,  if  this  thing  goes  on,  the  standards  will 
probably  be  reduced.  But  they  '11  have  to  be  reduced  a 
goodish  long  way  before  you  '11  get  in,  I  don't  mind 
telling  you." 


244  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Sabre  wheeled  his  bicycle  slowly  away  across  the  bar 
rack  square.  "  Thank  goodness,  I  never  said  anything  to 
Mabel  about  it."  A  cluster  of  young  men  of  various  de 
grees  of  life  were  waiting  outside  the  door  of  the  recruit 
ing  office.  The  rush  of  the  first  few  days  was  thinning 
down  but  recruits  were  still  pouring  in.  They  were  all 
laughing  and  talking  noisily.  He  had  the  wish  that  he 
could  take  the  thing  in  that  spirit.  Why  could  n't  he  ? 
After  all,  what  did  it  really  matter  that  he  was  not  able  to 
get  "  in  it  "  ?  Even  if  he  had  been  accepted  it  would  only 
have  been  pretending.  He  never  would  have  got  really 
"  in  it  ";  none  of  those  chaps  would;  every  one  knew  the 
war  could  n't  last  long;  it  would  be  over  long  before  any 
of  these  recruits  could  be  trained. 

VII 

This  "  common  sense  "  argument  carried  him  through 
following  days;  then  came  another  of  the  frightful  un 
doings  of  his  emotions;  and  just  as  the  war  definitely 
began  for  him  with  the  glimpse  of  the  beginnings  of  that 
"  jamborino  "  in  the  Mess,  so  from  this  new  occasion 
began,  unceasingly  and  increasingly,  and  with  shocking 
effect  upon  his  sensitiveness,  a  dreadful  oppression  by  the 
war  and,  adding  to  its  darkness,  a  gnawing  and  unreason 
able  self-accusation  that  he  was  not  "  in  it." 

The  occasion  was  that  of  his  meeting  with  Harkness 
outside  the  County  Times  office.  Harkness  was  a  cap 
tain  of  the  battalion  that  had  gone  out  who  had  been  left 
behind  owing  to  some  illness.  The  British  Expeditionary 
Force  had  been  in  action.  There  had  been  scraps  of  news 
of  some  heavy  fighting.  Harkness  said  dully,  "  Hullo, 
Sabre.  I  Ve  just  been  in  to  see  that  chap  Pike  to  see  if 
he  'd  got  anything.  We  Ve  had  some  news,  you  know/' 
He  stopped.  His  face  was  twitching. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  245 

Sabre  said,  "  News?     Anything  about  the  Pinks?  " 

Harkness  nodded.  He  seemed  to  be  swallowing.  Then 
he  said,  "  Yes,  the  regiment.  Pretty  bad." 

Sabre  said,  "  Any  one — ?"  and  also  stopped. 

Harkness  looked,  not  at  Sabre,  but  straight  across  the 
top  of  his  head  and  began  an  appalling,  and  as  it  seemed 
to  Sabre,  an  endless  recitative.  "  The  Colonel 's  killed. 
Bruce  is  killed.  Otway  's  killed  —  " 

"  Otway.  ..." 

"  Cottar  's  killed.     Bullen  's  killed  —  " 

Endless!  The  names  struck  Sabre  like  successive 
blows.  Were  they  never  going  to  end? 

"  Carmichael  's  killed.  My  young  brother  's  —  "  his 
voice  cracked  —  "  killed.  Sikes  is  killed." 

"  Sikes  killed.  .  .  .  And  your  brother.  ..." 

Harkness  said  in  a  very  thin,  squeaking  voice,  "  Yes, 
the  regiment 's  pretty  well  —  The  regiment 's  —  "  He 
looked  full  at  Sabre  and  said  in  a  very  loud,  defiant 
voice,  "  I  bet  they  were  magnificent.  By  God,  I  bet  you 
they  were  magnificent.  Oh,  my  God,  why  the  hell  was  n't 
I  there  ?  "  He  turned  abruptly  and  went  away,  walking 
rather  funnily. 

This  was  the  moment  at  which  there  descended  upon 
Sabre,  never  to  leave  him  while  he  remained  not  "  in  it  ", 
the  appalling  sense  of  oppression  that  the  war  exercised 
upon  him.  On  his  brain  like  a  weight ;  on  his  heart  like 
a  pressing  hand.  He  thought  of  Otway's  intense,  gleam 
ing  face.  "  My  God,  Sabre,  you  ought  to  have  seen  the 
battalion  on  parade  this  morning."  He  saw  Otway's 
face  cold  and  stricken.  He  thought  of  Sikes,  on  the 
table.  "  Well,  I  'm  going  to  take  nothing  but  socks.  I  'm 
going  to  stuff  my  pack  absolutely  bung  full  of  socks." 
He  saw  Sikes  flung  like  a  disused  thing  in  some  field.  .  .  . 


246  IF   WINTER   COMES 

VIII 

And  still  events;  still,  and  always,  now,  disturbing- 
things. 

While  he  stood  there  he  was  suddenly  aware  of  Young 
Rod,  Pole  or  Perch,  rather  breathlessly  come  up. 

"  I  say,  Sabre,  have  you  heard  this  frightful  news 
about  the  Pinks  ?  —  I  say,  Sabre,  I  want  your  help  most 
frightfully.  I  want  you  to  talk  to  my  mother.  She  likes 
you.  She  '11  listen  to  you.  I  'm  going  to  enlist.  I  've 
been  putting  it  off  day  after  day,  trying  to  fix  up  things 
for  my  mother  and  trying  to  persuade  her ;  but  I  have  n't 
done  much  and  I  absolutely  can't  wait  any  longer." 

Sabre  said,  "  Good  Lord,  are  you,  Perch?  Must  you? 
Your  mother,  why,  what  on  earth  will  she  do  without 
you?  She'll  —  " 

Young  Perch  winced  painfully.  "  I  know.  I  know. 
It  pretty  well  kills  me  to  think  of  it  and  I  'm  having  the 
most  frightful  scenes  with  her.  But  I  Ve  thought  it  all 
out,  Sabre,  and  I  know  I  'm  doing  the  right  thing.  I  've 
looked  after  my  mother  all  my  life,  and  a  month  ago  the 
idea  of  leaving  her  even  for  a  couple  of  nights  would 
have  been  unthinkable.  But  this  is  different.  This 
is  —  "  He  flushed  awkwardly  —  "  you  can't  talk  that 
sort  of  patriotic  stuff,  you  know,  but  this  is,  well  this  is 
a  chap's  country,  and  I  've  figured  it  out  it 's  got  to  come 
before  my  mother.  It 's  got  to.  She  says  it  will  kill  her 
if  I  go.  I  believe  it  will,  Sabre.  And  my  God,  if 
it  does  —  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  know  what 's  the  right 
thing.  I  '11  tell  you  something  else."  His  face,  which 
had  been  red  and  cloudy  as  with  tears,  became  dark  and 
passionate.  "  I  '11  tell  you  something  else.  People  are 
saying  things  about  me  and  to  me  because  I  'm  young  and 
unmarried  and  haven't  got  a  wife  to  support.  Curse 
them,  Sabre  —  what  do  they  know  about  it  ?  Are  n't 


IF   WINTER    COMES  247 

their  wives  young,  strong,  able  to  take  care  of  themselves? 
My  mother  can't  come  downstairs  without  me  and  can't 
let  any  one  else  —  " 

He  rubbed  a  hand  across  his  eyes  and  broke  off. 
"  Never  mind  about  that ;  I  know  what  I  Ve  got  to  do. 
Look  here,  Sabre,  I  tell  you  where  I  want  your  help,  like 
anything.  You  know  lots  of  people.  I  don't.  Well,  I 
want  to  get  hold  of  some  nice  girl  to  live  with  my  mother 
and  take  care  of  her  in  my  place  while  I  'm  away.  A  sort 
of  companion,  are  n't  they  called?  Like  that  Bypass  per 
son  up  at  old  Boom  Bagshaw's,  only  much  nicer  and 
younger  and  friendlier  than  she  is.  You  see,  I  know 
my  mother.  If  it  was  any  one  of  any  age,  she  would  n't 
have  her  in  the  house  at  any  price,  and  she  'd  send  her 
flying  out  of  the  window  in  about  two  days  if  she  did 
have  her.  She  swears  no  power  on  earth  will  induce  her 
to  have  any  one  at  all  as  it  is.  But  I  'm  going  to  manage 
it  if  I  can  get  the  right  person.  I  want  some  one  who  my 
mother  will  indignantly  call  a  chit  of  a  child  "  —  he  gave 
rather  a  broken  little  laugh  —  "  can't  I  hear  her  saying  it ! 
But  she  '11  instantly  begin  to  mother  her  because  she  is  a 
chit  of  a  child,  and  to  fuss  over  her  and  tell  her  what  she 
ought  to  eat  and  what  she  ought  to  wear,  and  does  she 
wear  a  flannel  binder,  and  all  that,  just  as  she  does  to  me. 
And  in  about  a  week  she  '11  be  as  right  as  rain  and  writing 
me  letters  all  day  and  arguing  with  the  girl  how  to  spell 
1  being  '  and  '  been  '  — you  know  what  my  mother  is.  I 
say,  Sabre,  do  for  God's  sake  help  me,  if  you  can.  Do 
you  know  any  one?  " 

Sabre,  during  this  greatly  troubled  outpouring,  had 
the  feeling  that  this  was  all  of  a  part  with  the  calamitous 
news  he  had  just  had  from  Harkness,  —  a  direct  continu 
ation  of  it.  This  frightful  war!  Was  it  going  to  attack 
even  that  pathetic  little  old  woman  at  Puncher's  Farm 
with  her  fumbling  hands  and  her  frail  existence  centred 


248  IF    WINTER    COMES 

solely  in  her  son?  He  said,  "  I  'm  awfully  sorry,  Perch. 
Frightfully  sorry  for  your  mother  and  for  you.  You 
know  best  what  you  ought  to  do.  I  won't  say  anything 
either  way.  I  think  a  man's  only  judge  in  this  ghastly 
business  is  himself.  Of  course,  I  '11  help  you.  I  '11  help 
you  all  I  can.  It 's  a  funny  coincidence  but  I  believe  I 
do  know  just  the  very  girl  that  would  be  what  you 
want  —  " 

Young  Perch  grasped  his  hand  in  delighted  relief. 
"Oh,  Sabre,  if  you  do!  I  felt  you  would  help.  You've 
always  been  a  chap  to  turn  to !  " 

"  I  've  turned  to  you,  Perch,  you  and  your  mother,  a 
good  deal  more  than  you  might  imagine.  I  'm  glad  to 
help  if  I  can.  The  chance  I  'm  thinking  about  I  was 
hearing  of  only  a  few  days  ago.  The  works'  foreman  in 
my  office,  an  old  chap  called  Bright.  He  's  got  a  daugh 
ter  about  eighteen  or  thereabouts,  and  I  was  hearing  he 
wanted  to  get  her  into  some  kind  of  post  like  yours.  I  've 
spoken  to  her  once  or  twice  when  she  's  been  about  the 
place  for  her  father  and  I  took  a  tremendous  fancy  to 
her.  She  's  as  pretty  as  a  picture.  Effie,  she  's  called.  I 
believe  your  mother  would  take  to  her  no  end.  And  she  'd 
just  love  your  mother." 

Young  Perch  said  rather  thickly,  "  Any  one  would  who 
takes  her  the  right  way." 

Sabre  touched  him  encouragingly  on  the  shoulder. 
"  This  girl  Effie  will  if  only  we  can  get  her.  She  's  that 
sort,  I  know.  I  '11  see  about  it  at  once.  Buck  up,  old 
man." 

"  Thanks  most  frightfully,  Sabre.  Thanks  most  aw 
fully." 

IX 

It  was  from  Twyning  that  Sabre  had  heard  that  a  post 
of  some  sort  was  being  considered  for  Effie  Bright.  Her 


IF   WINTER   COMES  249 

father,  as  he  had  told  young  Perch,  was  works'  foreman 
at  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre's.  "Mr.  Bright."  A  mas 
sive  old  man  with  a  massive,  rather  striking  face  hewn 
beneath  a  bald  dome  and  thickly  grown  all  about  and 
down  the  throat  with  stiff  white  hair.  He  had  been  in 
the  firm  as  long  as  Mr.  Fortune  himself  and  appeared  to 
Sabre,  who  had  little  to  do  with  him,  to  take  orders  from 
nobody.  He  was  intensely  religious  and  he  had  the  deep- 
set  and  extraordinarily  penetrating  eyes  that  frequently 
denote  the  religious  zealot.  He  was  not  liked  by  the 
hands.  They  called  him  Moses,  disliked  his  intense  re 
ligiosity  and  feared  the  cold  and  heavy  manner  that  he 
had.  He  trod  heavily  about  the  workshops,  looking  into 
the  eyes  of  the  young  men  as  if  far  more  concerned  to 
search  their  souls  than  their  benches;  and  Sabre,  when 
speaking  to  him,  always  had  the  feeling  that  Mr.  Bright 
was  penetrating  him  with  the  same  intention. 

Extraordinary  that  such  a  stern  and  hard  old  man 
should  have  for  daughter  such  a  fresh  and  lovable  slip  of 
a  young  thing  as  his  Effie!  Bright  Effie,  Sabre  always 
called  her,  inverting  her  names.  Mr.  Bright  had  a  little 
cupboard  called  his  office  at  the  foot  of  the  main  stairway 
and  Bright  Effie  came  often  to  see  her  father  there.  Sabre 
had  spoken  to  her  in  the  little  cupboard  or  just  outside  it. 
He  had  delight  in  watching  the  most  extraordinary  shin 
ing  that  she  had  in  her  eyes.  It  was  like  reading  an  enter 
taining  book,  he  used  to  think,  and  he  had  the  idea  that 
humor  of  that  rarest  kind  which  is  unbounded  love  min 
gled  with  unbounded  sense  of  the  oddities  of  life  was 
packed  to  bursting  within  her.  All  that  she  saw  or  heard 
seemed  to  be  taken  into  that  exhaustless  fount,  meta 
morphosed  into  the  most  delicious  sensations,  and  shone 
forth  in  extraordinarily  humorous  delight  through  her 
eyes.  Somewhere  in  the  dullest  day  light  is  found  and 
thrown  back  by  a  bright  surface.  It  was  just  so,  Sabre 


250  IF    WINTER    COMES 

used  to  think,  with  Effie.  All  things  were  fresh  to  her 
and  she  found  freshness  in  all  things. 

Some  such  apprehension  of  her  Sabre  had  expressed 
to  Twyning  on  the  occasion  that  came  to  his  mind  during 
young  Perch's  entreaty  for  some  one  to  live  with  his 
mother.  Sabre  had  been  standing  with  Twyning  at  Mr. 
Fortune's  window,  Mr.  Bright  and  Effie  leaving  the 
office  and  crossing  the  street  together  beneath  them. 
Twyning,  who  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Mr.  Bright, 
had  given  a  short  laugh  and  said,  "  Hullo,  you  seem  to 
have  been  thinking  a  lot  about  the  fair  Effie ! " 

The  kind  of  laugh  and  the  kind  of  remark  that  Sabre 
hated  and  he  gave  a  slight  gesture  which  Twyning  well 
knew  meant  that  he  hated  it.  This  was  what  Twyning 
called  "  stuck-uppishness "  and  equally  hated,  and  he 
chose  words  expressive  of  his  resentment,  —  the  class 
insistence. 

"  Well,  she  's  got  to  earn  her  living,  however  jolly  she 
is.  She  's  not  one  of  your  fine  ladies,  you  know." 

Sabre  recognised  the  implication  but  ignored  it. 
"  What 's  old  Bright  going  to  do  with  her  ?  " 

"  He  does  n't  quite  know.  He  was  talking  to  my  mis 
sus  about  it  the  other  day.  He 's  as  good  as  we  are,  you 
know.  He  's  an  idea  of  getting  her  out  as  a  sort  of 
lady's  companion  somewhere." 

This  was  what  Sabre  had  remembered;  and  he  went 
straight  from  young  Perch  to  Twyning  and  recalled  the 
conversation. 

Twyning  said,  "  Hullo,  still  interested  in  the  fair 
Effie?" 

"  It 's  for  young  Perch  over  at  Penny  Green  I  'm  ask 
ing.  For  his  mother.  He  's  a  young  man  "  —  Sabre 
permitted  his  eyes  to  rest  for  a  moment  on  Harold,  seated 
at  his  desk  —  "  and  he  feels  he  ought  to  join  the  army. 
He  wants  the  girl  to  be  with  his  mother  while  he  's  away." 


IF    WINTER    COMES  251 

Twyning,  noting  the  glance,  changed  his  tone  to  one  of 
much  friendliness.  "  Oh,  I  see,  old  man.  No,  Effie  's  got 
nothing  yet.  She  was  over  to  our  place  to  tea  last  Sun 
day." 

"  Good  I  '11  go  and  talk  to  old  Bright.  I  'm  keen 
about  this." 

"  Yes,  you  seem  to  be,  old  man." 

X 

Mr.  Bright  received  the  suggestion  with  a  manner  that 
irritated  Sabre.  While  he  was  being  told  of  the  Perches 
he  stared  at  Sabre  with  that  penetrating  gaze  of  his  as 
though  in  the  proposal  he  searched  for  some  motive  other 
than  common  friendliness.  His  first  comment  was, 
"They'll  want  references,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

Sabre  smiled.  "  Oh,  scarcely,  Mr.  Bright.  Not  when 
they  know  who  you  are." 

The  old  man  was  standing  before  Sabre  in  the  little 
cupboard  bending  his  head  close  towards  him  as  though 
he  would  sense  out,  if  he  could  not  see,  some  hidden  mo 
tive  behind  all  this.  He  contracted  his  great  brows  as  if 
to  squeeze  more  penetration  into  his  gaze.  "  Yes,  but 
I  '11  want  references,  Mr.  Sabre.  My  girl 's  been  well 
brought  up.  She  's  not  going  here,  there,  nor  anywhere." 

Extraordinary  the  intensity  of  his  searching,  suspicious 
stare !  Hard,  stupid  old  man,  Sabre  thought.  "  Dash  it, 
does  he  suppose  I've  got  designs  on  the  girl?"  He 
would  have  returned  an  impatient  answer  had  he  not  been 
so  anxious  on  the  Perches'  behalf.  Instead  he  said  pleas 
antly,  "  Of  course  she  's  not,  Mr.  Bright.  You  may  be 
sure  I  would  n't  suggest  this  if  I  did  n't  know  it  was  in 
every  way  desirable.  Mrs.  Perch  is  a  very  old  friend  of 
mine  and  a  very  simple  and  kind  old  lady.  There  '11  be 
only  herself  for  Effie  to  meet.  And  she  '11  make  a  daugh 
ter  of  her." 


252  IF   WINTER    COMES 

Nothing  of  the  penetration  abated  from  the  deep-set 
eyes,  nor  came  any  expression  of  thanks  from  the  stern, 
pursed  mouth.  "  I  '11  take  my  girl  over  and  see  for  my 
self,  Mr.  Sabre." 

Surly,  stupid  old  man !  However,  poor  young  Perch ! 
Poor  old  Mrs.  Perch!  The  very  thing,  if  only  it  would 
come  off. 

XI 

It  came  off.  Sabre  went  up  to  Puncher's  Farm  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  Mr.  Bright,  "  to  see  for  himself  ",  had 
called  with  Efrje.  Young  Perch  greeted  him  delightedly 
in  the  doorway  and  clasped  his  hand  in  gratitude.  "  It 's 
all  right.  It 's  fixed.  She  's  coming.  I  've  had  the  most 
frightful  struggle  with  my  mother.  But  it 's  only  her 
way,  you  know."  He  stopped  and  Sabre  heard  him  gulp. 
"  Only  her  way.  I  could  see  she  took  to  the  girl  from 
the  start.  My  mother  's  started  knitting  me  a  pair  of 
socks  and  old  man  Bright  —  I  say,  he  's  rather  an  alarm 
ing  sort  of  person,  Sabre  — had  hardly  opened  his  mouth 
when  they  arrived  when  the  girl,  in  the  most  extraor 
dinary,  making-a-fuss-of-her  kind  of  way,  told  her  she 
was  using  the  wrong  size  needles  or  something.  And 
my  mother,  as  if  she  had  known  her  all  her  life,  said, 
'  There  you  are,  I  knew  I  was.  It 's  simply  useless  ask 
ing  Freddie  to  do  any  shopping  for  me.  He  simply  lets 
them  give  him  anything  they  like/  And  she  told  the  girl 
she  thought  she  had  some  other  needles  in  one  of  those 
gigantic  old  boxes  of  ours.  And  they  went  off  together 
to  look,  and  heaven  only  knows  what  they  got  up  to; 
they  were  away  about  half  an  hour  and  came  back  with 
about  three  hundredweight  of  old  wools  and  nine  pounds 
of  needles,  and  talking  about  how  they  were  going 
through  all  the  other  boxes,  '  now  I  Ve  got  some  one  to 
help  me  ',  as  my  mother  said.  By  Jove,  the  girl 's  won- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  253 

derful.  D'  you  know,  she  actually  kissed  my  mother 
when  she  was  leaving  and  said,  '  Now  be  sure  to  try  that 
little  pillow  just  under  your  side  to-night.  Just  press  it 
in  as  you  're  falling  asleep.'  By  Jove,  you  can't  think 
how  grateful  I  am  to  you,  Sabre." 

"  I  am  glad,"  Sabre  told  him.  "  I  felt  she  'd  be  just 
like  that.  But  why  have  you  been  having  a  frightful 
struggle  over  it  with  your  mother  if  she  's  taken  to  her 
so?" 

Young  Perch  gave  the  fond  little  laugh  with  which 
Sabre  had  so  often  heard  him  conclude  his  enormous 
arguments  with  his  mother.  "Oh,  you  know  what  my 
mother  is.  She 's  now  made  up  her  mind  that  the  girl  is 
coming  here  to  do  what  she  calls  '  catch  me.'  She  '11 
forget  that  soon.  Anyway,  the  girl 's  coming.  She  's 
coming  the  day  after  to-morrow,  the  day  I  'm  going. 
Come  along  in  and  see  my  mother  and  keep  her  to  it." 

The  subject  did  not  require  bringing  up.  "  I  suppose 
Freddie  's  told  you  what  he  's  forcing  me  into  now,  Mr. 
Sabre,"  old  Mrs.  Perch  greeted  him.  "  It 's  a  funny 
thing  that  I  should  be  forced  to  do  things  at  my  time  of 
life.  Of  course  she  's  after  Freddie.  Do  you  suppose  I 
can't  see  that?" 

"  Well,  but  she  won't  see  Freddie,  Mrs.  Perch.  He 
won't  be  here." 

"She'll  catch  him,"  declared  Mrs.  Perch  doggedly. 
"  Any  girl  could  catch  Freddie.  He  's  a  positive  fool 
with  one  of  these  girls  after  him.  Now  she  's  got  to  have 
his  uncle  Henry's  armchair  in  her  room,  if  you  please. 
That's  a  nice  thing,  isn't  it?" 

"  Now  look  here,  Mother,  you  know  perfectly  well 
that  was  your  own  idea.  You  said  you  felt  sure  she  had 
a  weak  back  and  that  —  " 

"  I  never  supposed  she  was  going  to  have  your  uncle 
Henry's  chair  for  her  weak  back  or  for  any  other  back. 


254  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Ask  Mr.  Sabre  what  he  thinks.  There  he  is.  Ask 
him." 

Sabre  said,  "  But  you  do  like  the  girl,  don't  you,  Mrs. 
Perch?" 

Mrs.  Perch  pursed  her  lips. 

"  I  don't  say  I  don't  like  her.  I  merely  ask  what  I  'm 
going  to  do  with  her  in  the  house.  When  Freddie  said  he 
wanted  to  bring  some  one  in  to  be  with  me,  I  never  sup 
posed  he  was  going  to  bring  a  chit  of  a  child  into  the 
house.  I  assure  you  I  never  supposed  that  was  going  to 
be  done  to  me." 

And  then  quite  suddenly  Mrs.  Perch  dropped  into  a 
chair  and  said  in  a  horribly  weak  voice,  "  I  don't  mind 
who  comes  into  the  house,  now.  I  can't  contend  like  I 
used  to  contend."  Immense  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes 
and  began  tc  run  swiftly  down  her  cheeks.  "  I  'm  not 
fit  for  anything  now.  I  can't  live  without  Freddie.  I 
like  the  girl ;  but  all  this  house  where  we  Ve  been  so 
happy  .  .  .  without  Freddie  ...  I  shall  see  his  dear, 
bright  face  everywhere.  Why  must  he  go,  Mr.  Sabre? 
Why  must  he  go?  I  don't  understand  this  war  at  all." 
Her  voice  trailed  off.  Her  hands  fumbled  on  her  lap.  A 
tear  fell  on  them.  She  brushed  at  it  with  a  fumbling 
motion  but  it  remained  there. 

Young  Perch  took  her  hand  and  fondled  it.  Sabre 
saw  the  wrinkled,  fumbling  old  hand  between  the  strong 
brown  fingers.  "  That 's  all  right,  Mother.  Of  course, 
you  don't  understand  it.  That 's  just  it.  You  think  I  'm 
going  out  to  fighting  and  all  that.  And  I  'm  just  going 
into  a  training  camp  here  in  England  for  a  bit.  And  be 
fore  Christmas  it  will  all  be  over  and  I  shall  come  flying 
back  and  we  '11  send  Miss  Bright  toddling  off  home  and 
—  Don't  cry,  Mother.  Don't  cry,  Mother.  Is  n't  that 
so,  Sabre  ?  Just  training  in  England.  Is  n't  that  so  ? 
Now  wherever  's  your  old  handkerchief  got  to  ?  Look 


IF   WINTER   COMES  255 

here ;  here  's  mine.  Look,  this  is  the  one  I  chose  that  day 
with  you  in  Tidborough.  Do  you  remember  what  a  jolly 
tea  we  had  that  day?  Remember  what  a  laugh  we  had 
over  that  funny  teapot.  There,  let  me  wipe  them, 
Mother.  ..." 

Sabre  turned  away.    This  frightful  war.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER   VI 

I 

THIS  frightful  war!  On  his  brain  like  a  weight.  On 
his  heart  like  a  pressing  hand. 

Came  Christmas  by  which,  at  the  outset,  everybody 
knew  it  would  be  over,  and  it  was  not  over.  Came  June, 
1915,  concerning  which,  at  the  outset,  he  had  joined  with 
Mr.  Fortune,  Twyning  and  Harold  in  laughter  at  his 
own  grotesque  idea  of  the  war  lasting  to  the  dramatic 
effect  of  a  culminating  battle  on  the  centenary  of  Water 
loo,  and  the  war  had  lasted,  and  was  still  lasting. 

"This  frightful  war!"  The  words  were  constantly 
upon  his  lips,  ejaculated  to  himself  in  reception  of  new 
manifestations  of  its  eruptions;  forever  in  his  mind,  like 
a  live  thing  gnawing  there.  Other  people  seemed  to  suf 
fer  the  war  in  spasms,  isolated  amidst  the  round  of  their 
customary  routines,  of  dejection  or  of  optimistic  reas 
surance.  The  splendid  sentiment  of  "  Business  as  usual " 
was  in  many  valiant  mouths.  The  land,  in  so  far  as 
provisions  and  prices  were  concerned,  continued  to  flow 
in  milk  and  honey  as  the  British  Isles  had  always  flowed 
in  milk  and  honey.  In  July  a  rival  multiple  grocer's  shop 
opened  premises  opposite  the  multiple  grocer's  shop 
already  established  in  the  shopping  centre  of  the  Garden 
Home  and  Mabel  told  Sabre  how  very  exciting  it  was. 
The  rivals  piled  their  windows,  one  against  the  other, 
with  stupendous  stacks  of  margarine  and  cheese  at  seven- 
pence  the  pound  each ;  and  then  one  day,  "  Whatever  do 
you  think  ?  "  the  new  man  interspersed  his  mountains  of 


IF    WINTER    COMES  257 

margarine  and  cheese  with  wooden  bowls  running  over 
with  bright  new  pennies,  and  flamed  his  windows  with 
announcements  that  this  was  "  The  Money-back  Shop." 
You  bought  a  pound  of  margarine  for  sevenpence  and 
were  handed  a  penny  with  your  purchase !  And  the  next 
day,  "  Only  fancy !  "  the  other  man  also  had  bright  new 
pennies  (in  bursting  bags  from  the  bank)  and  also  bel 
lowed  that  he  too  was  a  Money-back  Shop. 

"  The  fact  is  the  war  really  has  n't  mattered  a  bit," 
Mabel  said.  "  I  think  it 's  wonderful.  And  when  you 
remember  at  the  beginning  how  people  rushed  to  buy 
up  food  and  what  awful  ideas  of  starvation  went  about; 
you  were  one  of  the  worst." 

And  Sabre  agreed  that  it  really  was  wonderful;  and 
agreed  too  with  Mabel's  further  opinion  that  he  really 
ought  not  to  get  so  fearfully  depressed. 

But  he  remained  fearfully  depressed.  The  abundance 
of  food,  and  such  manifestations  of  plenty  as  the  bowls 
and  bags  of  bright  new  pennies  meant  nothing  to  him. 
He  knew  nothing  about  war.  Very  possibly  the  prophe 
cies  of  shortage  and  restrictions  and  starvation  were,  in 
the  proof,  to  be  refuted  as  a  thousand  other  prophecies 
of  the  early  days,  optimistic  and  pessimistic,  were  being 
refuted.  What  had  that  to  do  with  it?  Remained  the 
frightful  facts  that  were  going  on  out  there  in  Belgium 
and  in  Gallipoli  and  in  Russia.  Remained  the  increasing 
revelation  of  Germany's  enormous  might  in  war  and  the 
revelation  of  what  war  was  as  she  conducted  it.  Re 
mained  the  sinister  revelation  that  we  were  not  winning 
as  in  the  past  we  had  "  always  won."  Remained  his 
envisagement  of  England  —  England !  —  standing  four 
square  to  her  enemies,  but  standing  as  some  huge  and 
splendid  animal  something  bewildered  by  the  fury  of  the 
onset  upon  it.  Shaking  her  head  whereon  had  fallen 
stunning  and  unexpected  blows,  as  it  might  be  a  lion 


258  IF    WINTER    COMES 

enormously  smashed  across  the  face;  roaring  her  defi 
ance;  baring  her  fangs;  tearing  up  the  ground  before  her; 
dreadful  and  undaunted  and  tremendous;  but  stricken; 
in  sore  agony;  in  heavy  amazement;  her  pride  thrust 
through  with  swords;  her  glory  answered  by  another's 
glory;  her  dominion  challenged;  shaken,  bleeding. 
England.  .  .  .  This  frightful  war! 

II 

Remained  also,  blowing  about  the  streets,  in  the  news 
papers  and  at  meetings,  in  the  mouths  of  many,  and  in 
the  eyes  of  most,  the  new  popular  question,  "  Why  are  n't 
you  in  khaki  ?  "  The  subject  of  age,  always  shrouded  in 
a  seemly  and  decorous  modesty  in  England,  and  especially 
since,  a  few  years  previously,  an  eminent  professor  of 
medicine  had  unloosed  the  alarming  theory  of  "  Too  old 
at  forty  ",  was  suddenly  ripped  out  of  its  prudish  cover 
ings.  One  generation  of  men  began  to  talk  with  thor 
oughly  engaging  frankness  and  largeness  about  their  age. 
They  would  even  announce  it  in  a  loud  voice  in  crowded 
public  conveyances.  It  was  nothing,  in  those  days,  to 
hear  a  man  suddenly  declare  in  an  omnibus  or  tramway 
car,  "  Well,  I  'm  thirty-eight  and  I  only  wish  to  heaven 
I  was  a  few  years  younger."  Other  men  would  heart- 
fully  chime  in,  "  Ah,  same  thing  with  me.  It 's  hard.'* 
And  all  these  men,  thus  cruelly  burdened  with  a  few 
more  years  than  the  age  limit,  would  look  with  great  in 
tensity  at  other  men,  apparently  not  thus  burdened,  who 
for  their  part  would  assume  attitudes  of  physical  unfitness 
or  gaze  very  sternly  out  of  the  window. 

Several  of  the  younger  employees  of  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre's  joined  up  (as  the  current  phrase  had  it)  in 
the  first  weeks  of  the  war.  In  the  third  month  Mr. 
Fortune  assembled  the  hands  and  from  across  the  whale- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  259 

like  front  indicated  the  path  of  duty  and  announced  that 
the  places  of  all  those  who  followed  it  would  be  kept  open 
for  them.  "  Hear,  hear !  "  said  Twyning.  "  Hear, 
hear !  "  and  as  the  men  were  filing  out  he  took  Sabre 
affectionately  by  the  arm  and  explained  to  him  that 
young  Harold  was  dying  to  go.  "  But  I  feel  a  certain 
duty  is  due  to  the  firm,  old  man.  What  I  mean  is,  that  the 
boy  's  only  just  come  here  and  I  feel  that  in  my  position 
as  a  partner  it  would  n't  look  well  for  me  practically 
with  my  own  hand  to  be  paying  out  unearned  salary  to  a 
chap  who  'd  not  been  four  months  in  the  place.  Don't 
you  agree,  old  man?  " 

Sabre  said,  "  But  we  would  n't  be  paying  him,  would 
we?  Fortune  said  salaries  of  married  men." 

"  Ah,  yes,  old  man,  but  between  you  and  me  he  's  going 
to  do  it  for  unmarried  men  as  well,  as  the  cases  come  up." 

"  Why  did  n't  he  tell  them  so?  " 

Twyning's  genial  expression  hardened  under  these 
questions,  but  he  said,  still  on  his  first  note  of  confiden 
tial  affection,  "  Ah,  because  he  thinks  they  ought  to  do 
their  duty  without  being  bribed.  Quite  right,  too.  No, 
it 's  a  difficult  position  for  me.  My  idea  is  not  to  give 
way  to  the  boy's  wishes  for  a  few  months  while  he  estab 
lishes  his  position  here,  and  then,  if  men  are  still  wanted, 
why  of  course  he'll  go.  Sound,  don't  you  think,  old 
man?" 

Sabre  disengaged  his  arm  and  turned  into  his  own 
room.  "  Well,  I  think  this  is  a  business  in  which  you 
can't  judge  any  one.  I  think  every  man  is  his  own 
judge." 

An  astonishing  rasp  came  into  Twyning's  voice. 
"How  old  are  you?" 

"Thirty-six.     Why?" 

Twyning  laughed  away  the  rasp.  "  Ah,  I  'm  older.  I 
daresay  you  '11  have  a  chance  later  on,  if  the  Times  and 


260  IF    WINTER    COMES 

the  Morning  Post  and  those  class  papers  have  their  way. 
And  you  've  got  no  family,  have  you,  old  man  ?  " 

III 

That  was  in  the  third  month  of  the  war.  But  by  June, 
1915,  the  position  on  these  little  points  had  hardened. 
In  June,  "  Why  are  n't  you  in  khaki  ?  "  was  blowing  about 
the  streets.  Questions  looked  out  of  eyes.  Certain  men 
avoided  one  another.  And  in  June  young  Harold  joined 
up.  Sabre  greeted  the  news  with  very  great  warmth. 
Towards  Harold  he  had  none  of  the  antipathy  that  was 
often  aroused  in  him  by  Harold's  father.  He  shook  the 
good-looking  young  man  very  heartily  by  the  hand.  "  By 
Jove,  I  'm  glad.  Well  done,  Harold.  That 's  splendid. 
Jolly  good  luck  to  you." 

Later  in  the  morning  Twyning  came  in.  He  entered 
abruptly.  His  air,  and  when  he  spoke,  his  manner 
struck  Sabre  as  being  deliberately  aggressive.  "  Well, 
Harold  's  gone,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  jolly  glad  for  the  boy's  sake.  I  was  just 
congratulating  him.  I  think  it 's  splendid  of  him." 

Twyning  breathed  heavily  through  his  nose.  "  Splen 
did  ?  Hur !  He  wanted  to  go  long  ago.  Well,  he 's 
gone  now  and  I  hope  you  're  satisfied." 

Sabre  turned  in  his  chair  and  questioned  Twyning 
with  puckered  brows.  "  Satisfied  ?  What  on  earth  do 
you  mean  —  satisfied  ?  " 

"  You  always  thought  he  ought  to  go  You  're  one  of 
chose  who  've  sent  him  off.  My  boy  saw  it." 

"  You  're  talking  nonsense.  I  Ve  never  so  much  as 
mentioned  the  subject  to  Harold.  I  told  you  long  ago 
that  I  think  every  man  's  his  own  judge,  and  sole  judge, 
in  this  business." 

Twyning  always  retracted  when  Sabre  showed  signs 


IF   WINTER   COMES  261 

of  becoming  roused.  "  Ah,  well,  what  does  it  matter  ? 
He  's  gone  now.  He  '11  be  in  this  precious  khaki  to-night. 
No  one  can  point  at  him  now."  He  drew  out  a  handker 
chief  and  wiped  his  eyes  slowly.  He  stared  inimically 
at  Sabre.  "  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing,  Sabre.  You  wait 
till  you  've  got  a  son,  then  you  '11  think  differently,  per 
haps.  You  don't  know  what  my  boy  means  to  me.  He  's 
everything  in  the  world  to  me.  I  got  him  in  here  so  as  to 
have  him  with  me  and  now  this  cursed  war  's  taken  him. 
You  don't  know  what  he  is,  my  boy  Harold.  He  's  a 
better  man  than  his  father,  I  '11  tell  you  that.  He  's  a 
good  Christian  boy.  He  's  never  had  a  bad  thought  or 
said  a  bad  word." 

He  broke  off.  He  rammed  his  handkerchief  into  his 
trouser  pocket.  As  though  the  sight  of  Sabre  sitting  be 
fore  him  suddenly  infuriated  him  he  broke  out,  "  It 's  all 
right  for  you  sitting  there.  You're  not  going.  Never 
mind.  My  boy  Harold's  gone.  You're  satisfied.  All 
right." 

Sabre  got  up.  "Look  here,  Twyning,  I'm  sorry  for 
you  about  Harold.  I  make  allowances  for  you.  But  —  " 

When  Twyning  was  angry  his  speech  sometimes  be 
trayed  that  on  which  he  was  most  sensitive.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  make  no  allowances  for  me.  I  don't  —  " 

"  You  've  repeated  the  stupid  implication  you  made . 
when  you  first  came  in." 

Twyning  changed  to  a  hearty  laugh.  "  Oh,  I  say, 
steady,  old  man.  Don't  let 's  have  a  row.  Nothing  to 
have  a  row  about,  old  man.  I  made  no  implication. 
Whatever  for  should  I?  No,  no,  I  simply  said  ' All 
right.'  I  say  people  have  sent  my  boy  Harold  off,  and 
I  'm  merely  saying  '  All  right.  He  's  gone.  Now  per 
haps  you  're  satisfied.'  Not  you,  old  man.  Other  peo 
ple."  He  paused.  His  tone  hardened.  "All  right. 
That 's  all,  old  man.  All  right." 


262  IF    WINTER    COMES 

IV 

Not  very  long  after  this  incident  occurred  another  in 
cident.  In  its  obvious  aspect  it  was  also  related  to  the 
"  Why  aren't  you  in  khaki?"  question;  Sabre  appre 
hended  in  it  a  different  bearing. 

One  morning  he  stepped  suddenly  from  his  own  room 
into  Mr.  Fortune's  in  quest  of  a  reference.  Twyning 
and  Mr.  Fortune  were  seated  together  in  deep  conversa 
tion.  They  were  very  often  thus  seated,  Sabre  had  no 
ticed.  At  his  entry  their  conversation  abruptly  ceased; 
and  this  also  was  not  new. 

Sabre  went  across  to  the  filing  cabinet  without  speak 
ing. 

Mr.  Fortune  cleared  his  throat.  "  Ah,  Sabre.  Ah, 
Sabre,  we  were  just  saying,  we  were  just  saying  — " 
His  hesitation,  and  the  pause  before  he  had  begun  quite 
clearly  informed  Sabre  that  what  he  was  now  about  to 
say  was  not  going  to  be  —  precisely  —  what  he  had  just 
been  saying.  "  We  were  just  saying  what  a  very  un 
fortunate  thing,  what  a  very  deeply  unfortunate  thing 
it  is  that  none  of  us  principals  are  of  an  age  to  do  the 
right  thing  by  the  Firm  by  joining  the  Army.  I  'm 
afraid  we  've  got  one  or  two  shirkers  downstairs,  and  we 
were  just  saying  what  a  splendid,  what  an  entirely  splen 
did  thing  it  would  be  if  one  of  us  were  able  to  set  them  an 
example." 

Sabre  faced  about  from  the  cabinet  towards  them. 
Twyning  in  the  big  chair  had  his  elbow  on  the  arm  and 
was  biting  his  nails.  Mr.  Fortune,  revolved  to  face  the 
room,  was  exercising  his  watch  chain  on  his  whale-like 
front. 

"  Yes,  it 's  a  pity,"  Sabre  said. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  agree.  I  knew  you  would.  Indeed, 
yes,  a  pity;  a  very  great  pity.  For  myself,  of  course, 


IF    WINTER    COMES  263 

I  'm  out  of  the  question.  Twyning  here  is  getting  on 
for  forty  and  of  course  he's  given  his  son  to  the  war; 
moreover,  there 's  the  business  to  be  thought  of.  I  'm 
afraid  I  'm  not  quite  able  to  do  all  I  used  to  do.  You  — 
of  course,  you  're  married  too,  and  there  we  are !  It 
does,  as  you  say,  seem  a  great  pity."  The  watch  chain, 
having  been  generously  exercised,  was  put  to  the  duty 
of  heavy  tugs  at  its  reluctant  partner.  Mr.  Fortune 
gazed  at  his  watch  and  remarked  absently,  "  I  hear 
young  Phillips  of  Brown  and  Phillips  has  persuaded  his 
wife  to  let  him  go.  You  were  at  the  school  with  himr 
Sabre,  weren't  you?  Isn't  he  about  your  age?" 

Sabre  spoke  very  slowly.  Most  furious  anger  had 
been  rising  within  him.  It  was  about  to  burst  when 
there  had  suddenly  come  to  its  control  the  thought, 
"  These  two  are  n't  getting  at  you  for  any  love  of  Eng 
land,  for  any  patriotic  reason.  That's  not  it.  Don't 
bother  about  that.  Man  alive,  don't  mix  them  up  in 
what  you  feel  about  these  things.  Don't  go  cheapening 
what  you  think  about  England.  Theirs  is  another  rea 
son."  He  said  very  slowly,  "I  never  told  you,  perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  told  you  at  the  time,  that  I  was  refused  for 
the  Army  some  while  ago." 

Mr.  Fortune's  watch  slipped  through  his  fingers  to  the 
full  length  of  his  chain.  Twyning  got  up  and  went  over 
to  a  bookcase  and  stared  at  it. 

Mr.  Fortune  heaved  in  the  line  with  an  agitated  hand 
over  hand  motion.  "  I  'd  no  idea !  My  dear  fellow,  I  'd 
no  idea!  How  very  admirable  of  you !  When  was  this? 
After  that  big  meeting  in  the  Corn  exchange  the  other 
day?" 

"  Don't  tell  them  when  it  was,"  said  Sabre's  mind.  He 
said,  "  No,  rather  before  that.  I  was  rejected  on  medi 
cal  grounds." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Mr.  Fortune.    "Well,  well!"    He 


264  IF   WINTER   COMES 

gave  the  suggestion  of  being  unable  to  array  his  thoughts 
against  this  surprising  turn  of  the  day.  "  Most  creditable. 
Twyning,  do  you  hear  that?  " 

Twyning  spun  around  from  the  bookcase  and  came 
forward.  "  Eh?  Sorry,  I  'm  afraid  I  was  n't  listening." 

"  Our  excellent  Sabre  has  offered  himself  for  enlist 
ment  and  been  rejected." 

Twyning  said,  "  Have  you,  by  Jove !  Jolly  good. 
What  bad  luck  being  turned  down.  What  was  it?" 

Sabre  moved  across  to  his  room.     "  Heart." 

"Was  it,  really  ?  By  Jove,  and  you  look  fit  enough,  too, 
old  man.  Fancy,  heart !  Fancy  —  Jolly  sporting  of  you. 
Fancy  —  Oh,  I  say,  old  man,  do  let 's  have  a  look  at 
your  paper  if  you  've  got  it  on  you.  I  want  to  see  one  of 
those  things." 

Sabre  was  at  his  door.     "  What  paper?" 

"  Your  rejection  paper,  old  man.  I  've  never  seen  one. 
Only  if  you  Ve  got  it  on  you." 

"  I  have  n't  got  one." 

"  Not  got  one !     You  must  have,  old  man." 

"  Well,  I  have  n't.  I  was  seen  privately.  I  'm  rather 
friendly  with  them  up  at  the  barracks." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  Wonder  they  did  n't  give  you  a 
paper,  though." 

"Well,  they  didn't." 

"  Quite  so,  old  man.    Quite  so.    Funny,  that 's  all." 

Sabre  paused  on  the  threshold.  He  perfectly  well 
understood  the  villainous  implication.  Vile,  intolerable ! 
But  of  what  service  to  take  it  up?  —  To  hear  Twyning's 
laugh  and  his  "  My  dear  old  chap,  as  if  I  should  think 
such  a  thing!  "  He  passed  into  his  room.  The  thought 
he  had  had  which  had  arrested  his  anger  at  Mr.  For 
tune's  hints,  revealing  this  incident  in  another  light,  was, 
"  They  want  to  get  rid  of  me." 


IF   WINTER    COMES  265 

V 

In  August,  the  anniversary  month  of  the  war,  he  again 
offered  himself  for  enlistment  and  was  again  rejected, 
but  this  time  after  a  longer  scrutiny:  the  standard  was 
not  at  its  first  height  of  perfection.  Earnshaw,  Colonel 
Rattray,  all  the  remnant  of  his  former  friends,  were  gone 
to  the  front :  Sabre  submitted  himself  through  the  ordinary 
channels  and  this  time  received  what  Twyning  had  called 
his  "  paper."  He  did  not  show  it  to  Twyning,  nor  men 
tion  either  to  him  or  to  Mr.  Fortune  that  he  had  tried 
again.  "  Again !  most  creditable  of  you,  my  dear  Sabre." 
"  Again,  have  you,  though?  By  Jove,  that 's  sporting  of 
you.  Did  they  give  you  a  paper  this  time,  old  man?" 
No.  Not  much.  Feeling  as  he  felt  about  the  war,  acutely 
aware  as  he  was  of  the  partners'  interest  in  the  matter, 
that,  he  felt,  could  not  be  borne. 

But  on  this  occasion  he  told  Mabel. 

The  war  had  not  altered  his  relations  with  Mabel. 
He  had  had  the  feeling  that  it  ought  to  bring  them  closer 
together,  to  make  her  more  susceptible  to  his  attempts  to 
do  the  right  thing  by  her.  But  it  did  not  bring  them 
closer  together:  the  accumulating  months,  the  impercep 
tibly  increasing  strangeness  and  tension  and  high  pitch 
of  the  war  atmosphere  increased,  rather,  her  suscepti 
bility  to  those  characteristics  of  his  which  were  most  im 
possible  to  her.  He  felt  things  with  draught  too  deep 
and  with  burthen  too  capacious  for  the  navigability  of 
her  mind;  and  here  was  an  ever-present  thing,  this  (in 
her  phrase)  most  unsettling  war,  which  must  be  taken 
(in  her  view)  on  a  high,  brisk  note  that  was  as  impossi 
ble  to  him  as  was  his  own  attitude  towards  the  war  to  her. 
The  effect  of  the  war,  in  this  result,  was  but  to  sunder 
them  on  a  new  dimension :  whereas  formerly  he  had 
learned  not  to  join  with  her  on  subjects  his  feelings  about 


266  IF    WINTER    COMES 

which  he  had  been  taught  to  shrink  from  exposing  before 
her,  now  the  world  contained  but  one  subject;  there  was 
no  choice  and  there  was  no  upshot  but  clash  of  incom 
patibility.  His  feelings  were  daily  forced  to  the  ordeal; 
his  ideas  daily  exasperated  her.  The  path  he  had  set  him 
self  was  not  to  mind  her  abuse  of  his  feelings,  and  he  tried 
with  some  success  not  to  mind;  but  (in  his  own  expres 
sion,  brooding  in  his  mind's  solitude)  they  riled  her  and 
he  had  nothing  else  to  offer  her;  they  riled  her  and  he  had 
set  himself  not  to  rile  her.  It  was  like  desiring  to  ease  a 
querulous  invalid  and  having  in  the  dispensary  but  a  sin 
gle  —  and  a  detested  —  palliative. 

Things  were  not  better ;  they  were  worse. —  But  he  made 
his  efforts.  The  matter  of  telling  her  (when  he  tried  in 
August)  that  he  thought  he  ought  to  join  the  Army  was 
one,  and  it  came  nearest  to  establishing  pleasant  relations. 
That  it  revealed  a  profound  difference  of  sensibility  was 
nothing.  He  blamed  himself  for  causing  that  side  to 
appear. 

Her  comment  when,  on  the  eve  of  his  attempt,  he  rather 
diffidently  acquainted  her  with  his  intention,  was,  "  Do 
you  really  think  you  ought  to  ?  "  This  was  not  enthusi 
astic;  but  he  went  ahead  with  it  and  made  a  joke,  which 
amused  her,  about  how  funny  it  would  be  if  she  had  to 
start  making  "  comforts  "  for  him  at  the  War  Knitting 
League  which  she  was  attending  with  great  energy  at  the 
Garden  Home.  He  found,  as  they  talked,  that  it  never 
occurred  to  her  but  that  it  was  as  an  officer  that  he  would 
be  going,  and  something  warned  him  not  to  correct  her 
assumption.  He  found  with  pleased  surprise  quite  a 
friendly  chat  afoot  between  them.  She  only  began  to 
fall  away  in  interest  when  he,  made  forgetful  by  this 
new  quality  in  their  contact,  allowed  his  deeper  feelings 
to  find  voice.  Once  started,  he  was  away  before  he  had 
realised  it,  in  how  one  could  n't  help  feeling  about  Eng- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  267 

land  and  how  utterly  glorious  would  be  his  own  sensa 
tions  if  he  could  actually  get  into  uniform  and  feel  that 
England  had  admitted  him  to  be  a  part  of  her. 

She  looked  at  the  clock. 

His  face  was  reddening  in  its  customary  signal  of  his 
enthusiasm.  He  noticed  her  glance,  but  was  not  alto 
gether  checked.  He  went  on  quickly,  "  Well,  look  here. 
I  must  tell  you  this.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  say  to  myself 
first  thing  if  I  really  do  get  in.  A  thing  out  of  the 
Psalms.  By  Jove,  an  absolutely  terrific  thing,  Mabel. 
In  the  Forty-fifth.  Has  old  Bag — has  Boom  Bagshaw 
told  you  people  up  at  the  church  what  absolutely  magnifi 
cent  reading  the  Psalms  are  just  now,  in  this  war?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  We  sing  them  every  Sunday, 
of  course.  But  I  don't  see  how  the  Psalms  —  you  mean 
the  Bible  Psalms,  don't  you  ?  —  can  have  anything  to  do- 
with  war." 

"  Oh,  but  they  have.  They  're  absolutely  bung  full  of 
it.  Half  of  them  are  the  finest  battle  chants  ever  written.. 
You  ought  to  read  them,  Mabel;  every  one  ought  to  be 
reading  them  these  days.  Well,  this  verse  I  'm  telling 
you  about.  I  say,  do  listen,  I  won't  keep  you  a  minute. 
It 's  in  that  one  where  there  comes  in  a  magnificent  chant 
to  some  princess  who  was  being  brought  to  marriage  to 
some  foreign  king  —  " 

Mabel's  dispersing  attention  took  arms.  "  To  a  prin 
cess  !  However  can  it  be  ?  It 's  the  Psalms.  You  do 
mean  the  Bible  Psalms,  don't  you  ?  " 

He  said  quickly,  "  Oh,  well,  never  mind  that.  Look 
here,  this  is  it.  I  shall  say  it  to  myself  directly  I  get  in, 
and  then  often  and  often  again.  It  ought  to  be  printed 
on  a  card  and  given  to  every  recruit.  Just  listen: 

"  Good  luck  have  thou  with  thine  honour ;  ride  on,  be 
cause  of  the  word  of  truth,  of  meekness  and  of  righteous 
ness:  and  thy  right  hand  shall  show  thee  terrible  things. 


268  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  Is  n't  that  terrific  ?  Is  n't  it  tremendous  ?  By  Jove, 
it—" 

For  the  first  time  in  her  married  life  she  looked  at  him, 
in  this  humour,  not  distastefully  but  curiously.  His 
flushed  face  and  shining  eyes!  Whatever  about?  He 
was  perfectly  incomprehensible  to  her.  She  got  up. 
She  said,  "Yes  —  but  '  Ride  on  '  —  of  course  you  're  not 
going  in  the  cavalry,  are  you?" 

He  said,  "Oh,  well.  Sorry.  It's  just  a  thing,  you 
know.  Yes,  it 's  your  bedtime,  I  'm  afraid.  I  've 
kept  you  up,  gassing.  Well,  dream  good  luck  for  me 
to-morrow." 

His  thoughts,  when  she  had  gone  from  the  room,  went, 
"  A  better  evening !  That 's  the  way !  I  can  do  it,  you 
see,  if  I  try.  That  other  thing  does  n't  matter.  I  was 
a  fool  to  drag  that  in.  She  doesn't  understand.  Yes, 
that 's  the  way !  " 

He  sat  late,  happily.  If  only  he  could  get  past  the 
doctor  to-morrow! 

VI 

That's  the  way!  But  on  the  following  evening  the 
way  was  not  to  be  recaptured.  The  old  way  was  re 
stored.  He  was  enormously  cast  down  by  his  rejection. 
When  he  got  back  that  night  he  went  straight  in  to  her. 
"  I  say,  they  've  rejected  me.  They  won't  have  me." 
His  face  was  working.  "  It 's  that  cursed  heart." 

She  slightly  puckered  her  brows.  "  Oh  —  d'  you  know, 
for  the  minute  I  could  n't  think  what  on  earth  you  were 
talking  about.  Were  you  rejected?  Well,  I  must  say 
I  'm  glad.  Up  at  the  Knitting  League  Mrs.  Turner  was 
saying  her  son  saw  you  at  the  recruiting  office  after  you 
were  rejected  and  that  it  was  into  the  ranks  you  were 
going.  You  never  told  me  that.  I  must  say  I  don't  think 


IF   WINTER    COMES  269 

you  ought  to  have  thought  about  the  ranks  without  telling 
me.  And  I  would  n't  have  liked  it.  I  would  n't  have 
liked  it  at  all.  I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  thankful  you 
were  rejected.  I  'm  sure  I  am." 

He  said  flatly,  "  Why  are  you  ?  Thankful  —  good 
lord  —  you  don't  know  —  what  do  you  mean,  I  ought 
to  be  thankful?" 

"  Because  you  ought  to  be  an  officer,  if  you  go  at  all. 
It 's  not  the  place  for  you  in  your  position.  And  apart 
from  anything  else — "  She  gave  her  sudden  burst  of 
laughter. 

He  felt  arise  within  him  violent  and  horrible  feelings 
about  her.  "What  are  you  laughing  at?  " 

"  Well,  do  just  imagine  what  you  'd  look  like  in  private 
soldier's  clothing !  "  She  laughed  very  heartily  again. 

He  turned  away. 


CHAPTER   VII 

I 

UP  in  his  room  he  began  a  long  letter  to  Nona,  pouring 
out  to  her  all  his  feelings  about  this  second  rejection. 
He  was  writing  to  her — and  hearing  from  her — regu 
larly  and  frequently  now.  It  was  his  only  vent  in  the 
oppression  of  these  frightful  days.  She  said  that  it  was 
hers,  too. 

After  that  letter  of  hers,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war, 
in  which  she  had  said  that  she  thanked  God  for  him  that 
lie  had  delayed  her  decision  to  unchain  their  chains  and 
to  join  their  lives,  no  further  reference  had  been  made 
by  either  to  that  near  touch  of  desire's  wand.  It  was, 
as  he  had  said  it  should  be,  as  though  her  letter  had 
never  been  written.  And  in  her  letters  she  always  men 
tioned  Tony.  She  wrote  to  Tony  every  day,  she  told 
liim;  and  there  were  few  of  her  letters  but  mentioned 
a  parcel  of  some  kind  sent  to  her  husband.  Tony  never 
wrote.  Sometimes,  she  said,  there  came  a  scrap  from 
him  relative  to  some  business  matter  she  must  see  to; 
but  never  any  response  to  her  daily  budget  of  gossip  — 
"  the  kind  of  news  I  know  he  likes  to  hear  "  —  or  any 
news  of  himself  and  his  doings. 

She  once  or  twice  said,  without  any  comment,  "  But 
he  is  writing  often  to  Mrs.  Stanley  and  Lady  Grace  Hed- 
don  and  Sophie  Basildon  and  I  hear  bits  of  him  from 
them  and  know  he  is  keeping  well.  Of  course,  I  pretend 


IF   WINTER   COMES  271 

to  them  that  their  news  is  stale  to  me."  Another  time, 
"  I ' ve  just  finished  my  budget  to  Tony,"  she  wrote,  "  and 
have  sent  him  two  sets  of  those  patent  rubber  soles  for 
his  boots.  Do  you  think  he  can  get  them  put  on  ?  Every 
day  I  try  to  think  of  some  new  trifle  he'd  like;  and 
you'd  be  shocked,  and  think  I  care  nothing  about  the 
war,  at  the  number  of  theatres  I  make  time  to  go  to, 
You  see,  it  makes  something  bright  and  amusing  to  tell 
him,  describing  the  plays.  I  feel  most  frightfully  that, 
although  of  course  my  canteen  work  is  useful,  the  real 
best  thing  every  woman  can  do  in  this  frightful  time  is 
to  do  all  she  can  for  her  man  out  there;  and  Tony's 
mine.  When  this  is  all  over  —  oh,  Marko,  is  it  ever 
going  to  be  over? — things  will  hurt  again;  but  while 
he  's  out  there  the  old  things  are  dead  and  Tony 's  mine 
and  England's  —  my  man  for  England:  that  is  my 
thought;  that  is  my  pride;  that  is  my  prayer." 

And  a  few  lines  farther  on,  "  And  he  's  so  splendid. 
Of  course  you  can  imagine  how  utterly  splendid  he  is. 
Lady  King- Warner,  his  colonel's  wife,  told  me  yesterday 
her  husband  says  he  's  brave  beyond  anything  she  could 
imagine.  He  said  —  she's  given  me  his  letter — 'the 
men  have  picked  up  from  home  this  story  about  angels 
at  Mons  and  are  beginning  to  believe  they  saw  them. 
Tybar  says  he  hopes  the  angels  were  near  him,  because 
he  thought  he  was  in  hell,  the  particular  bit  he  got  into, 
and  he  thinks  it  must  be  good  for  angels,  enlarging 
for  their  minds,  to  know  what  hell  is  like !  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  Tybar  himself  is  nearer  to  the  superhuman  than 
anything  I  saw  knocking  about  at  Mons.  His  daring  and 
his  coolness  and  his  example  are  a  byword  in  a  battalion 
composed,  my  dear,  with  the  solitary  exception  of  the 
writer,  entirely  of  heroes.  In  sticky  places  Tybar  is  the 
most  wonderful  thing  that  ever  happened.  I  like  to  be 
near  him  because  his  immediate  vicinity  is  unquestion- 


272  IF   WINTER   COMES 

ably  a  charmed  circle ;  and  I  shudder  to  be  near  him  be 
cause  his  is  always  the  worst  spot.' 
"  Can't  you  imagine  him,  Marko?  " 

II 

And  always  her  letters  breathed  to  Sabre  his  own  pas 
sionate  love  of  England,  his  own  poignant  sense  of  pos 
session  in  her  and  by  her,  his  own  intolerable  aching  at 
the  heart  at  his  envisagement  of  her  enormously  beset. 
They  reflected  his  own  frightful  oppression  and  they 
assuaged  it,  as  his  letters,  she  told  him,  assuaged  hers,  as 
burdens  are  assuaged  by  mingling  of  distress.  *  There 
is  no  good  news,"  he  told  her,  "  and  for  me  who  can  do 
nothing  —  and  sometimes  things  are  a  little  difficult  with 
me  here  and  I  suppose  that  makes  it  worse  —  there  seems 
to  be  no  way  out.  But  your  letters  are  more  than  good 
news  and  more  than  rescue;  they  are  courage.  Courage 
is  like  love,  Nona :  it  touches  the  spirit ;  and  the  spirit, 
amazing  essence,  is  like  a  spring :  it  is  never  touched  but 
it —  springs!  " 

She  was  working  daily  at  a  canteen  at  Victoria  sta 
tion.  She  had  been  on  the  night  shift  "  but  I  can't  sleep, 
I  simply  cannot  sleep  nowadays  " ;  and  so,  shortly  before 
he  wrote  to  her  of  his  second  rejection,  she  had  changed 
on  to  the  day  shift  and  at  night  took  out  the  car  to  run 
arriving  men  from  one  terminus  to  another.  "And 
about  twice  a  week  I  get  dog-tired  and  feel  sleepy  and 
send  the  chauffeur  with  the  car  and  stay  at  home  and 
do  sleep.  It 's  splendid !  " 

Northrepps  had  been  handed  over  to  the  Red  Cross  as 
a  military  hospital.  Her  answer  to  his  letter  telling  of 
his  second  rejection  at  the  recruiting  office  —  most  tender 
words  from  her  heart  to  his  heart,  comforting  his  spirit 
as  transfusion  of  blood  from  health  to  sickness  main- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  273 

tains  the  exhausted  body  —  her  reply  told  him  that  on 
that  day  fortnight  she  was  coming  down  to  say  of  his 
disappointment  what  she  could  so  inadequately  express 
in  writing.  She  was  going  out  to  war  work  in  France  — 
in  Tony's  name  she  had  presented  a  fleet  of  ambulance 
cars  to  a  Red  Cross  unit  and  she  was  going  out  to  drive 
one  —  and  she  was  coming  down  to  look  at  things  at 
Northrepps  before  she  left. 

On  the  following  day  Tidborough,  opening  its  news 
papers,  shook  hands  with  itself  in  all  its  houses,  shops  and 
offices  on  its  own  special  and  most  glorious  V.  C.,  — 
Lord  Tybar. 

Ill 

Tybar's  V.  C.  was  the  first  thing  Sabre  spoke  of  to 
Nona  when,  a  fortnight  later,  she  came  down  and  he 
went  up  to  her  at  Northrepps  in  the  afternoon.  Its 
brilliant  gallantry,  rendered  so  vivid  to  him  by  the  inti 
macy  with  which  he  could  see  that  thrice  attractive  figure 
engaged  in  its  performance,  stirred  him  most  deeply. 
He  had  by  heart  every  line  of  its  official  record  in  the 
restrained  language  of  the  Gazette. 

.  .  .  The  left  flank  of  the  position  was  insecure,  and  the 
post,  when  taken  over,  was  ill  prepared  for  defence.  .  .  . 
When  the  battalion  was  suffering  very  heavy  casualties  from 
a  77mm.  field  gun  at  very  close  range,  Captain  Lord  Tybar 
rushed  forward  under  intense  machine  gun  fire  and  suc 
ceeded  in  capturing  the  gun  single-handed  after  killing  the 
entire  crew.  .  .  .  Later,  when  repeated  attacks  developed, 
he  controlled  the  defence  at  the  point  threatened,  giving 
personal  assistance  with  revolver  and  bombs.  .  .  .  Single- 
handed  he  repulsed  one  bombing  assault.  ...  It  was  en 
tirely  owing  to  the  gallant  conduct  of  this  officer  that  the 
situation  was  relieved.  .  .  . 


274  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Oh,  rare  and  splendid  spirit !  Fortune's  darling  thrice 
worthy  of  her  dowry ! 

Nona  had  written  of  it  in  ringing  words.  She  flushed 
in  beautiful  ardour  of  the  enthusiasm  she  joined  with 
Sabre's  at  his  opening  words  of  their  meeting;  but  she 
ended  with  a  sad  little  laugh.  "  And  then!  "  she  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Nona,  '  And  then  '  ?  " 

She  took  a  letter  from  her  bag.  "  I  only  got  this  this 
morning  just  as  I  was  coming  away.  It 's  in  reply  to  the 
one  I  wrote  him  about  his  V.  C.  Oh,  Marko,  so  splendid, 
so  utterly  splendid  as  he  is,  and  then  to  be  like  this. 
Look,  he  says  he 's  just  got  leave  and  he 's  going  to 
spend  it  in  Paris!  One  of  his  women  is  there.  That 
Mrs.  Winfred.  He 's  taken  up  with  her  again.  He 
says,  '  Poor  thing.  She  's  all  alone  in  Paris.  I  know 
how  sorry  you  will  feel  for  her,  and  I  feel  I  ought  to  go 
and  look  after  her.  I  know  you  will  agree  with  me.  I  '11 
tell  her  you  sent  me.  That  will  amuse  and  please  her 
so.' " 

She  touched  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  "  It 
rather  hurts,  Marko.  It 's  not  that  I  mind  his  going. 
It 's  just  what  he  would  do.  But  it 's  the  way  he  tells  me. 
He  just  says  it  like  that  deliberately  to  be  cruel  because 
lie  knows  it  will  hurt.  So  utterly  splendid,  Marko,  and 
-so  utterly  graceless."  She  gave  her  little  note  of  sadness 
again.  ''Utterly  splendid!  Look,  this  is  all  he  says 
about  his  V.  C.  Is  n't  this  fine  and  is  n't  it  like  him  ? 
He  says,  '  P.  S.  Yes,  that  V.  C.  business.  You  know 
why  I  got  it,  don't  you?  It  stands  for  Very  Cautious, 
you  know.' ' 

They  laughed  together.  Yes,  like  him!  Tybar  ex 
actly  !  Sabre  could  see  him  writing  the  letter.  Delight 
ing  in  saying  words  that  would  hurt ;  delighting  in  his 
own  whimsicality  that  would  amuse.  Splendid;  airy, 
untouched  by  fear ;  untouched  by  thought ;  fearless,  faith- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  275 

less,  heedless,  graceless.     Fortune's  darling;  invested  in 
her  robe  of  mockery. 

Nona's  laughter  ended  in  a  little  catch  at  her  breatfr, 
He  touched  her  arm.  "  Let 's  walk,  Nona." 

IV 

He  thought  she  was  looking  thin  and  done  up.  Her 
face  had  rather  a  drawn  look,  its  soft  roundness  gone. 
He  thought  she  never  had  looked  so  beautiful  to  him. 
She  spoke  to  him  of  what  she  had  tried  to  say  in  her  let 
ters  of  his  disappointments  in  offering  himself  for  ser 
vice.  Never  had  her  sweet  voice  sounded  so  exquisitely 
tender  to  him.  They  spoke  of  the  war.  Never,  but  in 
their  letters,  had  he  been  able  thus  to  give  his  feelings 
and  receive  them,  touched  with  the  same  perceptions, 
kindled  and  enlarged,  back  into  his  sympathies  again. 
With  others  the  war  was  all  discussion  of  chances  and 
circumstances,  of  this  that  had  happened  and  that  that 
might  happen,  of  this  that  should  be  done  and  that  that 
ought  not  to  have  been  done.  Laboratory  examination 
of  means  and  remedies.  The  epidemic  everything  and 
the  patient  upstairs  nothing.  The  wood  not  seen  for  the 
trees.  With  Nona  he  talked  of  how  he  felt  of  England: 

Dear  earth,  I  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand. 

He  told  her  that. 

She  nodded.  "I  know.  I  know.  Say  it  all  through, 
Marko." 

He  stumbled  through  it.  At  the  end,  a  little  abashed, 
he  smiled  at  her  and  said,  "Of  course,  no  one  else  would 
think  it  applies.  Richard  was  saying  it  in  Wales  where 
he'd  just  landed,  and  it's  about  civil  war,  not  foreign; 
but  where  it  comes  to  me  is  the  loving  of  the  soil  itself, 
as  if  it  were  a  living  thing  that  knew  it  was  being  loved 
and  loved  back  in  return.  Our  England,  Nona.  You 
remember  Gaunt's  thing  in  the  same  play: 


276  IF   WINTER    COMES 

"  This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  sceptre'd  isle, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise.  .  .  . 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world, 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea.  .  .  . 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England.  .  .  ." 

She  nodded  again.  He  saw  that  her  dear  eyes  were 
brimming.  She  said,  "  Yes  —  yes.  —  Our  England. 
Rupert  Brooke  said  it  just  perfectly,  Marko: 

"  And  think,  this  heart,  all  evil  shed  away.  .  .  . 

Gives  somewhere  back  the  thoughts  by  England  given ; 
Her  sights  and  sounds ;  dreams  happy  as  her  day ; 

And  laughter,  learnt  of  friends;  and  gentleness, 
In  hearts  at  peace,  under  an  English  heaven." 

She  touched  his  hand.  "  Dear  Marko —  "  She  made 
approach  to  that  which  lay  between  them.  "  '  This 
heart,  all  evil  shed  away.'  Marko,  in  this  frightful  time 
we  could  n't  have  given  back  the  thoughts  by  England 
given  if  we  had.  —  And  that  was  you,  Marko." 

He  shook  his  head,  not  trusting  himself  to  look  at  her. 
He  said,  "  You.  Not  I.  Any  one  can  know  the  right 
thing.  But  strength  to  do  it  —  Strength  flows  out  of 
you  to  me.  It  always  has.  I  want  it  more  and  more.  I 
shall  want  it.  Things  are  difficult.  Sometimes  I  've  a 
frightful  feeling  that  things  are  closing  in  on  me. 
There  's  Shelley's  '  Ode  to  the  West  Wind/  It  makes 
me  —  I  don't  know  —  wrought  up.  And  sometimes  I  've 
the  feeling  that  I  'm  being  carried  along  like  that  and 
towards  that  frightful  cry  at  the  end,  '  O  Wind,  if  winter 
comes—'" 

He  stopped.  He  said,  "  Give  me  your  handkerchief  to 
keep,  Nona.  Something  of  your  own  to  keep.  There 
will  be  strength  in  it  for  me  —  to  help  me  hold  on  to  the 
rest  —  to  believe  it  —  '  If  Winter  comes  —  Can  Spring 
be  far  behind?'" 


IF   WINTER    COMES  27? 

She  touched  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  gave  it 
to  him. 

V 

After  October,  especially,  he  spent  never  less  than  two 
evenings  a  week  with  old  Mrs.  Perch.  In  October  Young 
Perch  went  to  France  and  on  his  draft-leave  took  from 
Sabre  the  easy  promise  to  "  keep  an  eye  on  my  mother." 
Military  training,  which  to  most  gave  robustness,  gave 
to  Young  Perch,  Sabre  thought,  a  striking  enhancement 
of  the  fine-drawn  expression  that  always  had  been  his. 
About  his  eyes  and  forehead  Sabre  apprehended  some 
thing  suggestive  of  the  mystic,  spiritually-occupied  look 
that  paintings  of  the  Huguenots  and  the  old  Crusaders 
had;  and  looking  at  him  when  he  came  to  say  good-by, 
and  while  he  spoke  solely  and  only  of  his  mother,  Sabre 
remembered  that  long-ago  thought  of  Young  Perch's 
aspect,  —  of  his  spirit  being  alighted  in  his  body  as  a  bird 
on  a  twig,  not  engrossed  in  his  body ;  a  thing  death  would 
need  no  more  than  to  pluck  off  between  finger  and  thumb. 

But  unthinkable,  that.     Not  Young  Perch.  ... 

Old  Mrs.  Perch  was  very  broken  and  very  querulous. 
She  blamed  Sabre  and  she  blamed  Effie  that  Freddie  had 
gone  to  the  war.  She  said  they  had  leagued  with  him  to 
send  him  off.  "  Freddie  I  could  have  managed,"  she 
used  to  say;  "but  you  I  cannot  manage,  Mr.  Sabre;  and 
as  for  Effie,  you  might  think  I  was  a  child  and  she  was 
mistress  the  way  she  treats  me." 

Bright  Effie  used  to  laugh  and  say,  "  Now,  you  know, 
Mrs.  Perch,  you  will  insist  on  coming  and  tucking  me  up 
at  night.  Now  does  that  look  as  if  she  's  the  child,  Mr. 
Sabre?" 

Mrs.  Perch  in  her  dogged  way,  "If  Mr.  Sabre 
does  n't  know  that  you  only  permit  me  to  tuck  you  up  one 
night  because  I  permit  you  to  tuck  me  up  the  next  night, 


278  IF    WINTER    COMES 

the  sooner  he  does  know  how  I  'm  treated  in  my  own 
establishment  the  better  for  me." 

Thus  the  initial  cause  of  querulousness  would  bump  off 
into  something  else;  and  in  an  astonishing  short  number 
of  moves  Bright  Effie  would  lead  Mrs.  Perch  to  some 
happy  subject  and  the  querulousness  would  give  place  to 
little  rays  of  animation;  and  presently  Mrs.  Perch  would 
doze  comfortably  in  her  chair  while  Sabre  talked  to  Effie 
in  whispers;  and  when  she  woke  Sabre  would  be  ready 
with  some  reminiscence  of  Freddie  carefully  chosen  and 
carefully  carried  along  to  keep  it  hedged  with  smiles. 
But  all  the  roads  where  Freddie  was  to  be  found  were 
sunken  roads,  the  smiling  hedges  very  low  about  them, 
the  ditches  overcharged  with  water,  and  tears  soon  would 
come. 

She  used  to  doze  and  murmur  to  herself,  "  My  boy  's 
gone  to  fight  for  his  country.  I  'm  very  proud  of  my 
boy  gone  to  fight  for  his  country." 

Effie  said  Young  Perch  had  taught  her  that  before  he 
went  away. 

While  they  were  talking  she  used  to  doze  and  say, 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  So-and-So.  My  boy's  gone  to 
fight  for  his  country.  I  'm  very  proud  of  my  boy  gone 
to  fight  for  his  country.  Good  morning,  Mr.  So-and-So. 
My  boy 's  gone  to  —  He  did  n't  want  to  go,  but  I  said 
he  must  go  to  fight  for  his  country.  .  .  .  But  that 's  not 
true,  Freddie.  .  .  .  Oh,  very  well,  dear.  Good  morning- 
Mrs.  So-and-So. — " 

She  used  to  wake  up  with  a  start  and  say,  "  Eh,  Fred 
die?  Oh,  I  thought  Freddie  was  in  the  room."  Tears. 

She  said  she  always  looked  forward  to  the  evenings 
when  Sabre  came.  She  liked  him  to  sit  and  talk  to  Effie 
and  to  smoke  all  the  time  and  knock  out  his  pipe  on  the 
fender.  She  said  it  made  her  think  Freddie  was  there. 
Effie  said  that  every  night  she  went  into  Young  Perch's 


IF   WINTER    COMES  279 

room  and  tucked  up  the  bed  and  set  the  alarm  clock  and 
put  the  candle  and  the  matches  and  one  cigarette  and  the 
ash-tray  by  the  bed;  and  every  night  in  this  performance 
said,  "  He  said  he  's  certain  to  come  in  quite  unexpectedly 
one  night,  and  he  will  smoke  his  one  cigarette  before  he 
goes  to  sleep.  It 's  no  good  my  telling  him  he  '11  set  the 
house  on  fire  one  night.  He  never  listens  to  anything  I 
tell  him."  And  every  morning,  when  Effie  took  her  in  a 
cup  of  tea  very  early  (as  Freddie  used  to),  she  always 
said,  "  Has  Freddie  come  home  in  the  night,  Effie,  dear  ? 
Now  just  go  and  knock  on  his  door  very  quietly  and 
then  just  peep  your  head  in." 

VI 

Sabre  had  always  thought  Bright  Effie  would  be  won 
derful  with  old  Mrs.  Perch.  He  wrote  long  letters  to 
Young  Perch,  telling  him  how  much  more  than  wonder 
ful  Bright  Effie  was.  Effie  mothered  Mrs.  Perch  and 
managed  her  and  humoured  her  in  a  way  that  not  even 
Young  Perch  himself  could  have  bettered.  In  that  as 
tounding  fund  of  humour  of  hers,  reflected  in  those 
sparkling  eyes,  even  Mrs.  Perch's  most  querulously  vio 
lent  attacks  were  transformed  into  matter  for  whimsical 
appreciation,  delightfully  and  most  lovingly  dealt  with. 
When  the  full,  irritable,  inconsequent  flood  of  one  of  Mrs. 
Perch's  moods  would  be  launched  upon  her  in  Sabre's 
presence,  she  would  turn  a  dancing  eye  towards  him  and 
immediately  she  could  step  into  the  torrent  and  would 
begin,  "  Now,  look  here,  Mrs.  Perch,  you  know  per 
fectly  well  —  " ;  and  in  two  minutes  the  old  lady  would 
be  mollified  and  happy. 

Marvellous  Effie !  Sabre  used  to  think ;  and  of  course 
it  was  because  her  astounding  fund  of  humour  was  based 
upon  her  all-embracing  capacity  for  love.  That  was  why 


280  IF    WINTER    COMES 

it  was  so  astounding  in  its  depth  and  breadth  and  com 
pass.  Sabre  liked  immensely  the  half-whispered  talks 
with  her  while  Mrs.  Perch  dozed  in  her  chair.  Effie  was 
always  happy.  Nothing  of  that  wanting  something  look 
was  ever  to  be  seen  in  Effie's  shining  eyes.  She  had  the 
secret  of  life.  Watching  her  face  while  they  talked,  he 
came  to  believe  that  the  secret,  the  thing  missing  in  half 
the  faces  one  saw,  was  love.  But  —  the  old  difficulty  — 
many  had  love;  himself  and  Nona;  and  yet  were  troubled. 

One  evening  he  asked  her  a  most  extraordinary  ques 
tion,  shot  out  of  him  without  intending  it,  discharged  out 
of  his  questing  thoughts  as  by  a  hidden  spring  suddenly 
touched  by  groping  fingers. 

"Effie,  do  you  love  God?" 

Her  surprise  seemed  to  him  to  be  more  at  the  thing  he 
had  asked  than  at  its  amazing  unexpectedness  and  amaz 
ing  irrelevancy.  "Why,  of  course  I  do,  Mr.  Sabre." 

"Why  do  you?" 

She  was  utterly  at  a  loss.     "  Well,  of  course  I  do." 

He  said  rather  sharply,  "  Yes,  but  why?  Have  you 
ever  asked  yourself  why?  Respecting,  fearing,  trusting, 
that's  understandable.  But  love,  love,  you  know  what 
love  is,  don't  you  ?  What 's  love  got  to  do  with  God  ?  " 

She  said  in  simple  wonderment,  as  one  asked  what  had 
the  sun  to  do  with  light,  or  whether  water  was  wet, 
"  Why,  God  is  love." 

He  stared  at  her. 

VII 

The  second  Christmas  of  the  war  came.  The  evening 
before  the  last  day  of  the  Old  Year  was  to  have  given 
Sabre  a  rare  pleasure  to  which  he  had  been  immensely 
looking  forward.  He  was  to  have  spent  it  with  Mr. 
Fargus.  The  old  chess  and  acrostic  evenings  hardly  ever 
happened  now.  Mr.  Fargus,  most  manifestly  unfitted  for 


IF   WINTER   COMES  281 

the  exposures  of  such  a  life,  had  become  a  special  consta 
ble.  He  did  night  duty  in  the  Garden  Home.  He  chose 
night  duty,  he  told  Sabre,  because  he  had  no  work  to  do  by 
day  and  could  therefore  then  take  his  rest.  Younger 
men  who  were  in  offices  and  shops  had  n't  the  like  ad 
vantage.  It  was  only  fair  he  should  help  in  the  hours 
help  was  most  wanted.  Sabre  said  it  would  kill  him  in 
time,  but  Mrs.  Fargus  and  the  three  Miss  Farguses  still 
at  home  replied,  when  Sabre  ventured  this  opinion  to 
them,  that  Papa  was  much  stronger  than  any  one  imag 
ined,  also  that  they  agreed  with  Papa  that  one  ought  to 
do  in  the  war,  not  what  one  wanted  to  do,  but  what  was 
most  required  to  be  done;  finally  that,  being  at  home  by 
day,  Papa  could  help,  and  liked  helping,  in  the  many 
duties  about  the  house  now  interfered  with  by  the  en 
listment  of  the  entire  battalion  of  female  Farguses  in 
work  for  the  war.  One  detachment  of  female  Farguses 
had  leapt  into  blue  or  khaki  uniforms  and  disappeared 
into  the  voracious  belly  of  the  war  machine;  the  re 
mainder  of  the  battalion  thrust  their  long  legs  into 
breeches  and  boots  and  worked  at  home  as  land  girls. 
Little  old  Mr.  Fargus  in  his  grey  suit,  and  the  startled 
child  Kate  with  one  hand  still  up  her  back  in  search  of 
the  errant  apron  string  "  did  "  what  the  battalion  used 
to  do  and  were  nightly,  on  the  return  of  the  giant  land 
girls,  shown  how  shockingly  they  had  done  it. 

Rare,  therefore,  the  old  chess  and  acrostic  evenings 
and  most  keenly  anticipated,  accordingly,  this  —  the  first 
for  a  fortnight  —  on  the  eve  of  New  Year's  Eve.  It 
was  to  have  been  a  real  long  evening;  but  it  proved  not 
very  long.  It  was  to  have  been  one  in  which  the  war 
should  be  shut  out  and  forgotten  in  the  delights  of  men 
tal  twistings  and  slowly  puffed  pipes ;  it  proved  to  be  one 
in  which  "this  frightful  war!"  was  groaned  out  of 
Sabre's  spirit  in  emotion  most  terrible  to  him. 


282  IF   WINTER    COMES 

At  ten  o'clock  profound  gymnastics  of  the  mind  in 
search  of  a  hidden  word  beginning  with  e  and  ending 
with  1  were  interrupted  by  the  entry  of  the  startled  Kate. 
One  hand  writhed  between  her  shoulders  for  the  apron 
string,  the  other  held  a  note.  "  Please,  Mr.  Sabre,  I 
think  it 's  for  you,  Mr.  Sabre.  A  young  boy  took  it  to 
your  house  and  said  you  was  to  have  it  most  particular, 
and  please,  your  Rebecca  sent  him  on  here,  please." 

11  For  me  ?    Who  on  earth  —  ? " 

He  opened  it.  He  did  not  recognise  the  writing  on  the 
envelope.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea  —  It  was  a  jolly 
evening.  .  .  .  could  Enamel  be  that  word  in  e  and  1? 
He  unfolded  it.  Ah! 

"  Freddie 's  killed.  Please  do  come  at  once.  I  think 
she 's  dying.  —  E.  B.  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 
I 

HE  was  alone  in  the  room  where  Mrs.  Perch  lay,  — 
not  even  Effie.  One  o'clock.  This  war!  He  had 
thought  to  shut  it  away  for  a  night,  and  here  was  the 
inconceivable  occupation  to  which  it  had  brought  him: 
alone  in  here  — 

The  doctor  had  been  and  was  coming  again  in  the 
morning.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  he  had  said; 
just  watch  her. 

Watch  her?  How  long  had  he  been  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  huge  bed  —  the  biggest  bed  he  had  ever 
seen  —  and  what  was  there  to  watch  ?  She  gave  no  sign. 
She  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe.  He  would  not  have 
recognised  her  face.  It  had  the  appearance  of  a  mask. 
"  Sinking,"  the  doctor  had  said.  In  process  here  before 
his  eyes,  but  not  to  be  seen  by  them,  awful  and  mysterious 
things.  Death  with  practised  fingers  about  his  awful 
and  mysterious  surgery  of  separating  the  spirit  from  the 
flesh,  the  soul  from  the  body,  the  incorruptible  from  the 
corruptible. 

It  could  not  be !  There  was  not  a  sign ;  there  was  not  a 
sound;  and  what  should  he  be  doing  to  be  alone  here, 
blind  watcher  of  such  a  finality?  It  was  not  real.  It  was 
an  hallucination.  He  was  not  really  here.  The  morning 
—  and  days  and  weeks  and  years  —  would  come,  and  he 
would  know  that  this  never  had  really  happened. 

But  Young  Perch  was  dead.  Young  Perch  was  killed. 
It  was  real.  He  was  here.  This  war ! 


284  IF   WINTER    COMES 

II 

He  had  gone  downstairs  with  the  doctor  and  had  re 
mained  there  some  little  time  after  his  departure.  Effie 
had  been  left  kneeling  by  the  bed.  When  he  came  back 
she  was  sound  asleep  where  she  knelt,  worn  out.  The 
news  had  come  on  the  previous  evening.  This  was  Effie's 
second  night  without  sleep.  Now  she  was  overcome; 
collapsed ;  suffocated  and  bound  and  gagged  in  the  opiates 
and  bonds  she  had  for  thirty  hours  resisted.  He  touched 
her.  She  did  not  stir.  He  shook  her  gently;  still  no 
response.  He  lifted  her  up  and  carried  her  along  the 
passage  to  the  room  he  knew  to  be  hers ;  laid  her  on  her 
bed  and  covered  her  with  a  quilt.  Inconceivable  occupa 
tion.  Was  all  this  really  happening? 

Two  o'clock.  He  went  to  look  at  Effie,  still  in  pro 
found  slumber.  Why  awaken  her?  Nothing  could  be 
done;  only  watch.  He  returned  to  his  vigil. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Perch  was  sinking.  More  pronounced  now 
that  masklike  aspect  of  her  face.  Yes,  dying.  He  spoke 
the  word  to  himself.  "  Dying."  As  of  a  fire  in  the  grate 
gone  to  one  dull  spark  among  the  greying  ashes.  —  It  is 
out;  it  cannot  burn  again.  So  life  here  too  far  retired, 
too  deeply  sunk  to  struggle  back  and  vitalise  again  that 
hue,  those  lips,  that  masklike  effigy. 

Profound  and  awful  mystery.  Within  that  form  was 
in  process  a  most  dreadful  activity.  The  spirit  was  pre 
paring  to  vacate  the  habitation  it  had  so  long  occupied. 
It  gave  no  sign.  The  better  to  hide  its  preparations  it  had 
drawn  that  mask  about  the  face.  Seventy  years  it  had 
sojourned  here;  now  it  was  bound  away.  Seventy  years 
it  had  been  known  to  passers-by  through  the  door  and 
windows  of  this  its  habitation ;  now,  deeply  retired  within 
the  inner  chambers,  it  set  its  house  in  order  to  be  gone. 
Profound  and  awful  mystery.  Dreadful  and  momentous 


IF   WINTER   COMES  285 

activity.  From  the  windows  of  her  eyes  turning  off  the 
lights;  from  the  engines  of  her  powers  cutting  off  its 
forces;  drawing  the  furnaces;  dissevering  the  contacts. 
A  lifetime  within  this  home;  now  passenger  into  an 
eternity.  A  lifetime  settled;  now  preparing  to  be  away 
on  a  journey  inconceivably  tremendous,  unimaginably 
awful.  Did  it  shrink?  Did  it  pause  in  its  preparations 
to  peer  and  peep  and  shudder  ? 

Ill 

He  felt  very  cold.  He  moved  from  the  bed  and  re 
plenished  the  fire  and  crouched  beside  it. 

This  war !  He  said  beneath  his  breath,  "  Young  Perch ! 
Young  Perch !  "  Young  Perch  was  killed.  Realise  the 
thing!  He  was  never  going  to  see  Young  Perch  again. 
He  was  never  going  to  see  old  Mrs.  Perch  again.  He 
was  never  to  come  into  Puncher's  again.  Another  place 
of  his  life  was  to  be  walled  up.  His  home  like  an  empty 
house;  the  office  like  an  empty  house;  now  no  refuge 
here.  Things  were  crowding  in  about  him,  things  were 
closing  in  upon  him.  And  he  was  just  to  live  on  here, 
out  of  the  war,  yet  insupportably  beset  by  the  war.  Be 
set  by  the  war  yet  useless  in  the  war.  Young  Perch! 
How  in  pity  was  he  to  go  on  living  out  of  the  war,  now 
that  the  war  had  taken  Young  Perch  and  killed  old  Mrs. 
Perch  and  shut  this  refuge  from  its  oppression?  He 
must  get  in.  He  could  not  endure  it.  He  could  not, 
could  not.  .  .  . 

Ten  minutes  past  three.  There  was  perceptible  to  him 
no  change  in  that  face  upon  the  pillow.  He  brought  a 
lamp  from  the  dressing  table  and  looked  at  her,  shading 
the  light  with  his  hand.  Impenetrable  mask !  Profound 
and  awful  mystery.  Much  more  than  a  house  that  dread 
fully  engrossed  spirit  was  preparing  to  leave.  This 


286  IF   WINTER    COMES 

meagre  form,  scarcely  discernible  beneath  the  coverlet, 
had  been  its  fortress,  once  new,  once  strong,  once  beauti 
ful,  once  by  its  garrison  proudly  fought,  splendidly  de 
fended,  added  to,  enlarged,  adorned.  Then  past  its 
glory,  past  attention.  Then  crumbling,  then  decaying. 
Now  to  be  abandoned.  It  had  known  great  stresses  and 
abated  them;  sieges  and  withstood  them;  assaults  and 
defeated  them.  O  vanity !  It  had  but  temporised  with 
conquest.  Time's  hosts  had  camped  these  many  years 
about  its  walls,  in  ceaseless  investment,  with  desultory 
attacks,  but  with  each  attack  investing  closer.  Now  a 
most  terrible  assault  had  breached  the  citadel.  The  gar 
rison  was  stricken  amain.  The  fortress  no  longer  could 
be  defended.  Its  garrison  was  withdrawing  from  that 
place  and  handing  it  over  to  destruction. 

IV 

There  was  some  strange  sound  in  the  room.  He 
had  dozed  in  a  chair.  Some  strange  sound,  or  had  he 
imagined  it  ?  He  sat  up  tensely  and  listened.  It  was  her 
breathing,  a  harsh  and  laboured  sound.  He  stepped 
quickly  to  the  bed  and  looked  and  then  ran  into  the  pas 
sage  and  called  loudly,  "Erne!  Effie!" 

Frightening,  terrible,  agonising.  He  was  kneeling  on 
one  side  of  the  bed,  Effie  at  the  other.  The  extreme 
moment  was  come  to  her  that  lay  between  them.  She 
was  moaning.  He  bowed  his  face  into  his  hands.  The 
sound  of  her  moaning  was  terrible  to  him.  That  inhabit 
ant  of  this  her  body  had  done  its  preparations  and  now 
stood  at  the  door  in  the  darkness,  very  frightened.  It 
wranted  to  go  back.  It  had  been  very  accustomed  to  be 
ing  here.  It  could  not  go  back.  It  did  not  want  to  shut 
the  door.  The  door  was  shutting.  It  stood  and  shrank 
and  whimpered  there. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  287 

Oh,  terrible!  Beyond  endurance,  agonising.  It  was 
old  Mrs.  Perch  that  stood  there  whimpering,  shrinking, 
upon  the  threshold  of  that  huge  abyss,  wide  as  space, 
dark  as  night.  It  was  no  spirit.  It  was  just  that  very 
feeble  Mrs.  Perch  with  her  fumbling  hands  and  her  mov 
ing  lips.  Look  here,  Young  Perch  would  never  allow  her 
even  to  cross  a  road  without  him !  How  in  pity  was  she 
to  take  this  frightful  step?  He  twisted  up  all  his  emo 
tions  into  an  appeal  of  tremendous  intensity.  '  Young 
Perch!  Come  here!  Your  mother!  Young  Perch, 
come  here! " 

Telling  it,  once,  to  Nona,  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  what 
happened.  They  talk  about  self -hypnotism.  Perhaps  it 
was  that.  I  know  I  made  a  most  frightful  effort  saying 
'  Young  Perch.'  I  had  to.  I  could  see  her  —  that  poor 
terrified  thing.  Something  had  to  be  done.  Some  one 
had  to  go  to  her.  I  said  it  like  in  a  nightmare,  bursting 
to  get  out  of  it,  '  Young  Perch.  Come  here.'  Anyway, 
there  it  is,  Nona.  I  heard  them.  It  was  imagination,  of 
course.  But  I  heard  them." 

He  heard,  "  Now  then,  Mother !  Don't  be  frightened. 
Here  I  am,  Mother.  Come  on,  Mother.  One  step, 
Mother.  Only  one.  I  can't  reach  you.  You  must  take 
just  one  step.  Look,  Mother,  here  's  my  hand.  Can't 
you  see  my  hand  ?  " 

"  It 's  so  dark,  Freddie." 

"  It 's  not,  Mother.  It 's  only  dark  where  you  are. 
It 's  light  here.  Don't  cry,  Mother.  Don't  be  frightened. 
It 's  all  right.  It 's  quite  all  right." 

That  tall  and  pale  young  man,  with  his  face  like  one  of 
the  old  Huguenots !  That  very  frail  old  woman  with  her 
fumbling  hands  and  moving  lips ! 

"  It 's  so  cold." 

"  Now,  Mother,  I  tell  you  it  is  n't.  Do  just  trust  me. 
Do  just  come.'"' 


288  IF   WINTER   COMES 

"  I  dare  n't,  Freddie.  I  can't,  Freddie.  I  can't.  I 
can't." 

"  You  must.  Mother,  you  must.  Look,  look,  here  I 
am.  It 's  I,  Freddie.  Don't  cry,  Mother.  Just  trust 
yourself  entirely  to  me.  You  know  how  you  always  can 
trust  me.  Look,  here  's  my  hand.  Just  one  tiny  step  and 
you  will  touch  it.  I  know  you  feel  ill,  darling  Mother. 
You  won't  any,  any  more,  once  you  touch  my  hand.  But 
I  can't  come  any  nearer,  dearest.  You  must.  You — . 
Ah,  brave,  beloved  Mother  —  now !  " 

He  heard  Effie's  voice,  "Oh,  she's  dead!  She's 
dead!" 

Dead?  He  stared  upon  her  dead  face.  Where  was 
gone  that  mask?  Whence  had  come  this  glory?  That 
inhabitant  of  this  her  body,  in  act  of  going  had  looked 
back,  and  its  look  had  done  this  thing.  It  had  closed  the 
door  upon  a  ruined  house,  and  looked,  and  left  a  temple. 
It  had  departed  from  beneath  a  mask,  and  looked,  and 
that  which  had  been  masked  now  was  beatified. 

Young  Perch! 


In  the  morning  a  mysterious  man  with  a  large  white 
face,  crooked  spectacles  and  a  crooked  tie,  and  a  sugges 
tion  of  thinking  all  the  time  of  something  else,  or  of 
nothing  at  all,  mysteriously  drifted  into  the  house,  drifted 
about  it  with  apparent  complete  aimlessness  of  purpose, 
and  presently  showed  himself  to  Sabre  as  about  to  drift 
out  of  it  again.  This  was  the  doctor,  a  stranger,  one  of 
those  new  faces  which  the  war,  removing  the  old,  was 
everywhere  introducing,  and  possessed  of  a  mysterious 
and  astounding  faculty  of  absorbing,  resolving,  and  sub 
jugating  all  matters  without  visibly  attending  to  any 
matter.  "  Leave  everything  to  me,"  it  was  all  he  seemed 


IF   WINTER   COMES  289 

to  say.  He  did  nothing  yet  everything  seemed  to  come  to 
his  hand  with  the  nicety  and  exactness  of  a  drawing-room 
conjurer.  He  bewildered  Sabre. 

His  car  left  and  returned  during  his  brief  visit.  Sabre, 
who  had  thought  him  upstairs,  and  who  had  a  hundred 
perplexities  to  inquire  of  him,  found  him  in  the  hall  ab 
sorbed  in  adjusting  the  weights  of  a  grandfather's  clock. 

He  remarked  to  Sabre,  "  I  thought  you  'd  gone.  You  'd 
better  get  off  and  get  a  bath  and  some  breakfast.  Noth 
ing  you  can  do  here.  Leave  everything  to  me." 

"But,  look  here,  I  can't  leave  —  " 

"  That 's  all  right.  Just  leave  everything  to  me.  I  'm 
taking  Miss  Bright  back  to  my  wife  for  breakfast  and  a 
rest.  After  lunch  I  '11  run  her  to  her  home.  She  can't 
stay  here.  Have  you  any  idea  how  this  thing  hooks  on?  " 

"  But  what  about  —  " 

The  extraordinary  man  seemed  to  know  everything 
before  it  was  said.  "  That 's  all  right.  I  've  sent  for  a 
woman  and  her  daughter.  Leave  everything  to  me. 
Here  's  the  car.  Here  they  are." 

Two  women  appeared. 

"But  about - 

"  Yes,  that 's  all  right.  The  poor  old  lady's  brother  is 
coming  down.  He  '11  take  charge.  I  found  his  name  in 
her  papers  last  night.  Telegraphed."  He  was  looking 
through  the  door.  "  Here  's  the  answer." 

A  telegraph  messenger  appeared. 

Astounding  man! 

He  read  the  telegram.  "  Yes,  that 's  all  right.  He  '11 
be  here  by  the  eleven  train  at  Tidborough.  I  '11  take 
Miss  Bright  now." 

Effie  appeared. 

Sabre  had  the  feeling  that  if  he  opened  the  next 
thought  in  his  mind,  an  undertaker  would  rise  out  of  the 
ground  with  a  coffin.  This  astonishing  man,  coming 


290  IF    WINTER    COMES 

upon  his  overwrought  state,  made  him  feel  hysterical. 
He  turned  to  Effie  and  gave  her  both  his  hands.  "  The 
doctor  's  taking  you,  Effie.  It 's  been  dreadful  for  you. 
It 's  all  over  now.  Try  to  leave  it  out  of  your  mind  for 
a  bit." 

She  smiled  sadly.  "  Good-by,  Mr.  Sabre.  Thank  you 
so  much,  so  very  much,  for  coming  and  staying.  What 
I  should  have  done  without  you  I  dare  n't  think.  I  've 
never  known  any  one  so  good  as  you  Ve  been  to  me." 

"  I  've  done  nothing,  Effie,  except  feel  sorry  for  you." 

He  saw  her  into  the  car.    No,  he  would  not  take  a  lift. 

"  Well,  leave  everything  to  me,"  said  the  doctor.  The 
chauffeur  spoke  to  him  about  some  engine  trouble.  '  Yes, 
I  '11  see  to  that.  Leave  everything  to  me,  Jenkins." 

Even  his  car ! 

VI 

Sabre,  passed  on  from  the  ordeal  of  the  night  to  the 
ordeal  of  the  day  by  this  interlude  of  the  astonishing 
doctor,  did  not  know  how  overwrought  he  was  until  he 
was  at  home  again  and  come  to  Mabel  seated  at  break 
fast.  The  thought  in  his  mind  as  he  walked  had  been 
the  thought  in  his  mind  as  he  had  sat  on  after  the  death, 
waiting  for  morning.  After  this,  after  the  war  had  done 
this,  how  was  he  to  go  on  enduring  the  war  and  refused 
part  in  it?  He  dreaded  meeting  Mabel.  He  dreaded 
going  on  to  the  office  and  meeting  Fortune  and  Twyning. 
To  none  of  these  people,  to  no  one  he  could  meet,  could 
he  explain  how  he  felt  about  Young  Perch  and  what  he 
had  gone  through  with  Mrs.  Perch,  nor  why,  because  of 
what  he  felt,  more  poignant  than  ever  was  his  need  to  get 
into  the  war.  And  yet  with  these  feelings  he  must  go  on 
facing  these  people  and  go  on  meeting  the  war  in  every 
printed  page,  in  every  sight,  in  every  conversation.  Un 
bearable  !  He  could  not. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  291 

Mabel  looked  up  from  her  breakfast.  "  Well,  I  do 
think  - 

This  was  the  beginning  of  it.  He  felt  himself  digging 
his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his  hands.  "  I  've  been  up 
with  old  Mrs.  Perch  —  " 

"  I  know  you  have.  I  sent  around  to  the  Farguses. 
I  must  say  I  do  think  —  " 

He  felt  he  could  not  bear  it.  "  Mabel,  look  here.  For 
goodness'  sake  don't  say  you  do  think  I  ought  to  have  let 
you  know.  I  know  I  ought  but  I  could  n't.  And  I  'm 
not  in  a  state  to  go  on  niggling  about  it.  Young  Perch 
is  killed  and  his  mother  's  dead.  Now  for  goodness' 
sake,  for  pity's  sake,  let  it  alone.  I  couldn't  send  and 
there  's  the  end  of  it." 

He  went  out  of  the  room.  He  thought,  "  There  you 
are!  Now  I 've  done  it !  "  He  went  back.  "  I  say,  I  'm 
sorry  for  bursting  out  like  that ;  but  I  've  had  rather  a 
night  of  it.  It 's  terrible,  is  n't  it,  both  of  them  like 
that?  Aren't  you  awfully  sorry  about  it,  Mabel?" 

She  said,  "  I  'm  very  sorry.  Very  sorry  indeed.  But 
you  can't  expect  me  to  say  much  when  you  speak  in  that 
extraordinary  manner." 

"  I  was  with  her  when  she  died.    It 's  upset  me  a  bit.''' 

"  I  don't  wonder.  If  you  ask  me,  I  think  it  was  very 
extraordinary  your  being  there.  If  you  ask  me,  I  think 
it  was  very  funny  of  that  Miss  Bright  sending  for  you 
at  that  hour  of  the  night.  Why  ever  should  she  send 
for  you  of  all  people?  " 

"  I  was  their  greatest  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  always  liked  them.  But  you 
could  n't  be  of  any  use.  I  must  say  I  do  think  people  are 
v:ry  funny  sometimes.  If  Miss  Bright  had  done  the 
j  ight  thing,  as  we  are  their  nearest  neighbors,  she  would 
lave  sent  and  asked  me  if  I  could  let  one  of  the  maids 
go  over  and  be  with  her.  Then  you  could  have  gone  up 


292  IF    WINTER    COMES 

too  if  you  'd  wished  and  could  have  come  back  again. 
I  don't  think  she  had  any  right  to  send  for  you." 

He  had  sat  down  and  was  about  to  pour  himself  out 
some  tea.  He  put  down  the  teapot  and  got  up.  "  Look 
here,  do  me  a  favour.  They  're  dead,  both  of  them. 
Don't  say  anything  more  about  them.  Don't  mention 
the  subject  again.  For  God's  sake." 

He  went  out  of  the  house  and  got  his  bicycle  and  set 
out  for  the  office.  At  the  top  of  the  Green  he  passed 
young  Pinnock,  the  son  of  Pinnock's  Stores.  Some 
patch  of  colour  about  young  Pinnock  caught  his  eye. 
He  looked  again.  The  colour  was  a  vivid  red  crown 
on  a  khaki  brassard  on  the  young  man's  arm.  The 
badge  of  the  recruits  enrolled  under  the  Derby  enlist 
ment  scheme.  He  dismounted.  "  Hullo,  Pinnock.  How 
on  earth  did  you  get  that  armlet  ?  " 

"  I  've  joined  up." 

"  But  I  thought  you  'd  been  rejected  about  forty  times. 
Haven't  you  got  one  foot  in  the  grave  or  something?  " 

Young  Pinnock  grinned  hugely.  "  Don't  matter  if 
you  Ve  got  both  feet  in,  or  head  and  shoulders  neither, 
over  at  Chovensbury  to-day,  Mr.  Sabre.  It 's  the  last 
day  of  this  yer  Derby  scheme,  an'  there  's  such  a  rush  of 
chaps  to  get  in  before  they  make  conscripts  of  'em  they  're 
fair  letting  anybody  through." 

Sabre's  heart  —  that  very  heart !  —  bounded  with  an 
immense  hope.  '*'  D'  you  think  it 's  the  same  at  Tid- 
borough?  " 

"  They  're  saying  it 's  the  same  everywhere.  They 
say  they  're  passing  you  through  if  you  can  breathe.  I 
reckon  that 's  so  at  Chovensbury  anyway.  Why,  they 
did  n't  hardly  look  at  me." 

Sabre  turned  his  front  wheel  to  the  Chovensbury  road. 
"  I  '11  go  there." 


IF   WINTER   COMES  293 

VII 

At  Chovensbury  the  recruiting  station  was  in  the  ele 
mentary  schools.  Sabre  entered  a  large  room  filled  with 
men  in  various  stages  of  dressing,  odorous  of  humanity, 
very  noisy.  It  was  a  roughish  collection  :  the  men  mostly 
of  the  labouring  or  artisan  classes.  At  a  table  in  the 
centre  two  soldiers  with  lance  corporal's  stripes  were 
filling  up  blue  forms  with  the  answers  to  questions 
barked  out  at  the  file  of  men  who  shuffled  before  them. 
As  each  form  was  completed,  it  was  pushed  at  the  man 
interrogated  with  "  Get  undressed." 

Sabre  took  his  place  in  the  chain.  In  one  corner  of 
the  room  a  doctor  in  uniform  was  testing  eyesight. 
Passed  on  from  there  each  recruit  joined  a  group  wear 
ing  only  greatcoat  or  shirt  and  standing  about  a  stove 
near  the  door.  At  intervals  the  door  opened  and  three 
nude  men,  coat  or  shirt  in  hand,  entered,  and  a  sergeant 
bawled,  "Next  three!" 

Sabre  was  presently  one  of  the  three.  Of  the  two  who 
companioned  him  one  was  an  undersized  little  individual 
wearing  a  truss,  the  other  appeared  to  be  wearing  a  suit 
of  deep  brown  tights  out  of  which  his  red  neck  and  red 
hands  thrust  conspicuously.  Sabre  realised  with  a  slight 
shock  that  the  brown  suit  was  the  grime  of  the  unbathed. 
Across  the  passage  another  room  was  entered.  The  re 
cruits  dropped  their  final  covering  and  were  directed, 
one  to  two  sergeants  who  operated  weights,  a  height 
gauge  and  a  measuring  tape;  another  to  an  officer  who 
said,  "  Stand  on  one  leg.  Bend  your  toes.  Now  on  the 
other.  Toes.  Stretch  out  your  arms.  Work  your  fin 
gers.  Squat  on  your  heels."  The  third  recruit  went  to 
an  officer  who  dabbed  chests  with  a  stethoscope  and  said, 
"Had  any  illnesses?"  When  the  recruit  had  passed 
through  each  performance  he  walked  to  two  officers 


294  IF    WINTER    COMES 

seated  with  enrolment  forms  at  a  table,  was  spoken  to, 
and  then  recovered  his  discarded  garment  and  walked 
out.  The  whole  business  took  about  three  minutes. 
They  were  certainly  whizzing  them  through. 

Sabre  came  last  to  the  officer  with  the  stethoscope.  He 
was  just  polishing  off  the  undersized  little  man  with  the 
truss.  "  Take  that  thing  off.  Cough.  How  long  have 
you  had  this?  Go  along."  He  turned  to  Sabre,  dabbed 
perfunctorily  at  his  lungs,  then  at  his  heart.  "  Wait  a 
minute."  He  applied  his  ear  to  the  stethoscope  again. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  Sabre's  face.  "  Had  any  illnesses  ?  " 
"  Not  one  in  my  life."  "  Shortness  of  breath?  "  "  Not 
the  least.  I  was  in  the  XV  at  school."  Sabre's  voice  was 
tremulous  with  eagerness.  The  doctor's  eyes  appeared 
to  exchange  a  message  with  him.  They  gave  the  slight 
est  twinkle.  "  Go  along." 

He  went  to  the  table  where  sat  the  two  officers  with 
the  paper  forms.  "Name?"  "Sabre."  The  officer 
nearer  him  drew  a  form  towards  him  and  poised  a  foun 
tain  pen  over  it.  Sabre  felt  it  extraordinarily  odd  to  be 
standing  stark  naked  before  two  men  fully  dressed.  In 
his  rejection  at  Tidborough  the  time  before  this  had  not 
happened. 

"  Any  complaints  ?  " 

Sabre  was  surprised  at  such  consideration.  He  thought 
the  reference  was  to  his  treatment  during  examination. 
"  No." 

The  officer,  who  appeared  to  be  short-tempered,  glanced 
again  at  the  form  and  then  looked  quickly  at  him.  "  Abso 
lutely  nothing  wrong  with  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  meant  —  " 

The  officer  was  short-tempered.  "Never  mind  what 
you  thought.  You  hear  what  I  'm  asking  you,  don't 
you?" 

It  was  Sabre's  first  experience  of  a  manner  with  which 


IF    WINTER    COMES  295 

he  was  to  become  more  familiar.     "  Sorry.     No,  nothing 
whatever." 

The  fountain  pen  made  a  note.     "  Get  off." 
He   could  have   shouted  aloud.      He   thought,    "  By 
God!" 

In  the  dressing  room  a  sergeant  bawled,  "  All  re 
cruits  !  "  —  paused  and  glared  about  the  room  and  drew 
breath  for  further  discharge.  This  mannerism  Sabre 
was  also  to  become  accustomed  to :  in  the  Army,  always 
"  the  cautionary  word  "  first  when  an  order  was  given. 
The  sergeant  then  discharged :  "  All  recruits  past  the 
doctor  proceed  to  the  room  under  this  for  swearing  in. 
When  sworn,  to  office  adjoining  for  pay,  card  and  arm 
let.  And  get  a  move  on  with  it !  " 

VIII 

The  most  stupendously  elated  man  in  all  England  was 
presently  riding  to  Penny  Green  on  Sabre's  bicycle.  On 
his  arm  blazed  the  khaki  brassard,  in  the  breast  pocket 
of  his  waistcoat,  specially  cleared  to  give  private  ac 
commodation  to  so  glorious  a  prize,  were  a  half-crown 
and  two  pennies,  the  most  thrillingly  magnificent  sum 
he  had  ever  earned,  —  his  army  pay.  His  singing 
thought  was,  "  I  'm  in  the  Army !  I  'm  in  the  Army !  I 
don't  care  for  anything  now.  By  gad,  I  can't  believe  it. 
I  'm  in  the  war  at  last !  "  His  terrific  thought  was, 
"  Good  luck  have  thee  with  thine  honour ;  ride  on  ... 
and  thy  right  hand  shall  show  thee  terrible  things." 

He  burst  into  the  house  and  discharged  the  torrent  of 
his  elation  on  to  Mabel.  "  I  say,  I  'm  in  the  Army. 
They  've  passed  me.  Look  here !  Look  at  my  Derby 
armlet !  And  look  at  this.  That 's  my  pay !  Just  look, 
Mabel  —  two  and  eightpence." 

He  extended  the  coins  to  her  in  his  hand.    "  Look !  " 


296  IF   WINTER    COMES 

She  gave  her  sudden  burst  of  laughter.  "  How  per 
fectly  ridiculous!  Two  and  eightpence!  Whyever  did 
you  take  it?" 

"  Take  it?  Why,  it 's  my  pay.  My  army  pay.  I  've 
never  been  so  proud  of  anything  in  my  life.  I  '11  keep 
these  coins  forever.  Where  shall  I  put  them  ?  "  He 
looked  around  for  a  shrine  worthy  enough.  "  No,  I 
can't  put  them  anywhere  yet.  I  want  to  keep  looking  at 
them.  I  say,  you  're  glad  I  'm  in,  are  n't  you?  Do  say 
something." 

She  gave  her  laugh.  "  But  you  're  not  in.  You  do  get 
so  fearfully  excited.  After  all,  it 's  only  this  Lord  Derby 
thing  where  they  call  the  men  up  in  age  classes,  the 
papers  say.  Yours  can't  come  for  months.  You  may 
not  go  at  all." 

He  dropped  the  coins  slowly  into  his  pocket,  —  chink, 
chink,  chink.  "  Oh,  well,  if  that 's  all  you  've  got  to  say 
about  it." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  expect?  You  just  come  rushing 
in  and  telling  me  without  ever  having  said  a  word  that 
you  were  going.  And  for  that  matter  you  seem  to  forget 
the  extraordinary  way  in  which  you  went  off  this  morn 
ing.  I  haven't." 

"  I  had  forgotten.  I  was  upset.  I  went  off,  I  know; 
but  I  don't  remember  —  " 

"  No,  you  only  swore  at  me;  that 's  all." 

"  Mabel,  I  'm  sure  I  did  n't." 

"  You  bawled  out,  '  For  God's  sake.'  I  call  that  swear 
ing.  I  don't  mind.  It 's  not  particularly  nice  for  the 
servants  to  hear,  but  I  'm  not  saying  anything  about 
that." 

His  brows  were  puckered  up.  "  What  is  it  you  are 
saying?  " 

"  I  'm  simply  saying  that,  behaving  like  that,  it 's  not 
quite  fair  to  pretend  that  I  'm  not  enthusiastic  enough 


IF    WINTER    COMES  297 

for  you  about  this  Lord  Derby  thing.  It  is  n't  as  if  you 
were  really  in  the  Army  —  " 

He  wished  not  to  speak,  but  he  could  not  let  this  go, 
"  But  I  am  in." 

"  Yes,  but  not  properly  in  —  yet.  And  perhaps  you 
won't  ever  be.  It  does  n't  seem  like  being  in  to  me. 
That 's  all  I  'm  saying.  Surely  there  's  no  harm  in  that?  " 

He  was  at  the  window  staring  out  into  the  garden, 
"  No,  there  's  no  harm  in  it." 

"Well,  then.     What  are  we  arguing  about  it  for?" 

He  turned  towards  her.  "  Well,  but  do  understand, 
Mabel.  If  you  think  I  was  a  fool  rushing  in  like  that, 
as  you  call  it.  Do  understand.  It 's  a  Government 
scheme.  It 's  binding.  It  is  n't  a  joke." 

"  No,  but  I  think  they  make  it  a  joke,  and  I  can't  think 
why  you  can't  see  the  funny  side  of  it.  I  think  giving 
you  two  and  eightpence  like  that  —  a  man  in  your  position 
—  is  too  lovely  for  words." 

He  took  the  coins  from  his  pocket,  and  jerked  them 
on  the  table  before  her.  "  Here,  pay  the  butcher  with  it." 

IX 

But  as  he  reached  the  door,  his  face  working,  the  tre 
mendous  and  magnificent  thought  struck  into  his  realisa 
tion  again.  "  I  'm  in  the  Army !  By  gad,  I  'm  in  the 
Army.  I  don't  care  what  happens  now."  He  strode 
back,  smiling,  and  took  up  the  money.  "  No,  I  'm  dashed 
if  I  can  let  it  go!  "  He  went  out  jingling  it  and  turned 
into  the  kitchen.  "  I  say,  High,  Low,  I  'm  in  the  Army  I 
I  've  got  in.  I  '11  be  off  soon.  Look  at  my  badge !  " 

They  chorused,  "  Well,  there  now !  " 

He  said  delightedly,  "  Pretty  good,  eh?  Is  n't  it  fine  I 
Look  at  this  —  that 's  my  pay.  Two  and  eightpence !  " 

The  chorus,  "  Oh,  if  ever!" 


298  IF    WINTER    COMES 

High  Jinks  said,  "  That  armlet,  sir,  that 's  too  loose. 
It  don't  half  show  down  on  your  elbow,  sir.  You  want 
it  up  here." 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  place.    Won't  it  stay  ?  " 

"  I  '11  put  a  safety  pin  in,  sir;  and  then  to-night  shif; 
the  buttons.  That 's  what  it  wants." 

"Yes,  do,  High.     That's  fine." 

He  held  out  his  arm  and  the  two  girls  pinned  to  advan 
tage  the  splendid  sign  of  his  splendid  triumph. 

1  There,  sir.  Now  it  shows.  And  won't  we  be  proud 
of  you,  just,  in  khaki  and  all!  " 

He  laughed  delightedly.  "  I  'm  jolly  proud  of  my 
self,  I  tell  you!  Now,  then,  Thumbs,  I  don't  want  bay 
onets  in  me  yet !  " 

Glorious !    Glorious !    And  what  would  not  Nona  say ! 


CHAPTER   IX 


LIFE,  when  it  takes  so  giant  a  hand  in  its  puppet  show 
as  to  upturn  a  cauldron  of  world  war  upon  the  puppets, 
may  be  imagined  biting  its  fingers  in  some  chagrin  at  the 
little  result  in  particular  instances.  As  vegetation  be 
neath  snow,  so  individual  development  beneath  universal 
calamity.  Nature  persists;  individual  life  persists.  The 
snow  melts,  the  calamity  passes;  the  green  things  spring 
again,  the  individual  lives  are  but  approached  more 
nearly  to  their  several  destinations. 

Sabre  was  called  up  in  his  Derby  Class  within  eight 
weeks  of  his  enrolment,  —  at  the  end  of  February,  1916. 
He  was  nearly  two  years  in  the  war ;  but  his  ultimate  en 
counter  with  life  awaited  him,  and  was  met,  at  Penny 
Green.  It  might  have  been  reached  precisely  as  it  was 
reached  without  agency  of  the  war,  certainly  without 
participation  in  it.  Of  the  interval  only  those  few  events 
ultimately  mattered  which  had  connection  with  his  life 
at  home.  They  seemed  in  the  night  of  the  war  transient 
as  falling  stars;  they  proved  themselves  lodestars  of  his 
destiny.  They  seemed  nothing,  yet  even  as  they  flashed 
and  passed  he  occupied  himself  with  them  as  the  falling 
star  catches  the  attention  from  all  the  fixed  and  constant. 
They  were  of  his  own  life :  the  war  life  was  life  in  exile. 

And,  caught  up  at  last  in  the  enormous  machinery  of 
the  war,  his  feelings  towards  the  war  underwent  a  great 
change.  First  in  the  training  camp  in  Dorsetshire,  after- 


300  IF   WINTER    COMES 

wards,  and  much  more  so,  in  the  trenches  in  Flanders, 
it  was  only  by  a  deliberate  effort  that  he  would  recapture, 
now  and  then,  the  old  tremendous  emotions  in  the 
thought  of  England  challenged  and  beset.  He  turned  to 
it  as  stimulant  in  moments  of  depression  and  of  dismay, 
in  hours  of  intense  and  miserable  loathing  of  some 
conditions  of  his  early  life  in  the  ranks,  and  later 
in  hours  when  fatigue  and  bodily  discomfort  reached 
degrees  he  had  not  believed  it  possible  to  endure  —  and 
go  on  with.  He  turned  to  it  as  stimulant  and  it  never 
failed  of  its  stimulation.  "  I  'm  in  it.  What  docs  this 
matter?  This  is  the  war.  It's  the  war.  Those  in 
fernal  devils.  ...  If  these  frightful  things  were  being 
done  in  England!  Imagine  if  this  was  in  England! 
Thank  God  I  'm  in  it.  There  you  are !  I  'm  absolutely 
all  right  when  I  remember  why  I  'm  here."  And  enor 
mous  exaltation  of  spirit  would  lift  away  the  loneliness, 
remove  the  loathing,  banish  the  exhaustion,  dissipate  the 
fear.  The  fear —  "  And  thy  right  hand  shall  show  thee 
terrible  things  " —  He  was  more  often  than  once  in 
situations  in  which  he  knew  he  was  afraid  and  held  fear 
away  only  because,  with  his  old  habit  of  introspection,  he 
knew  it  for  fear,  —  a  horrible  thing  that  sought  mastery 
of  him  and  by  sheer  force  of  mental  detachment  must 
be  held  away  where  it  could  be  looked  at  and  known  for 
the  vile  thing  it  was.  In  such  ordeals,  in  Flanders,  he 
got  the  habit  of  saying  to  himself  between  his  teeth, 
"  Six  minutes,  six  hours,  six  days,  six  months,  six  years. 
Where  the  hell  will  I  be?"  It  somehow  helped.  The 
six  minutes  would  go,  and  one  could  believe  that  all  the 
periods  would  go,  —  and  wonder  where  they  would  find 
one. 

But  more  than  that:  now,  caught  up  in  the  enormous 
machinery  of  the  war,  he  never  could  accept  it,  as  other 
men  seemed  to  accept  it,  as  normal  and  natural  occupa- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  301 

tion  that  might  be  expected  to  go  on  for  ever  and  outside 
of  which  was  nothing  at  all.  His  life  was  not  here;  it 
was  at  home.  He  got  the  feeling  that  this  business  in 
which  he  was  caught  up  was  a  business  apart  altogether 
from  his  own  individual  life,  —  a  kind  of  trance  in  which 
his  own  life  was  held  temporarily  in  abeyance,  a  kind  of 
transmigration  in  which  he  occupied  another  and  a  very 
strange  identity:  from  whose  most  strange  personality, 
often  so  amazingly  occupied,  he  looked  wonderingly  upon 
the  identity  that  was  his  own,  waiting  his  return. 

And  it  was  when,  in  thought  or  fleeting  action,  he 
came  in  touch  with  that  old,  waiting  identity,  that  there 
happened  the  things  that  seemed  transient  as  falling 
stars  but  moved  into  his  horoscope  as  planets,  —  and 
remained. 

II 

He  first  went  to  France,  in  one  of  the  long  string  of 
Service  battalions  that  had  sprung  out  of  the  Pinks,  in 
the  June  following  his  enlistment.  Mabel  had  not  wished 
to  make  any  change  in  her  manner  of  life  while  he  was 
still  in  England  in  training  and  she  did  not  wish  to  when, 
at  home  three  days  on  his  draft  leave,  he  discussed  it 
with  her.  She  much  preferred,  she  said,  to  go  on  living 
in  her  own  home.  She  was  altogether  against  any  idea 
of  going  to  be  with  her  father  at  Tidborough,  and  there 
was  no  cousin  "  or  anybody  like  that "  (her  two  sisters 
were  married  and  had  homes  of  their  own)  that  she 
would  care  to  have  in  the  house  with  her.  Relations 
were  all  very  well  in  their  right  place  but  sharing  the 
house  with  you  was  not  their  right  place.  She  had 
plenty  to  do  with  her  war  work  and  one  thing  and  an 
other;  if,  in  the  matter  of  obviating  loneliness,  she  did 
make  any  change  at  all,  it  might  be  to  get  some  sort  of 
paid  companion :  if  you  had  any  one  permanently  in  the 


302  IF    WINTER    COMES 

house  it  was  much  better  to  have  some  one  in  a  dependent 
position,  not  as  your  equal,  upsetting  things. 

The  whole  of  these  considerations  were  advanced  again 
in  a  letter  which  Sabre  received  in  July  and  which  gave 
him  great  pleasure.  Mabel  had  decided  to  get  a  paid 
companion  —  it  was  rather  lonely  in  some  ways  —  and 
she  had  arranged  to  have  "  that  girl,  Miss  Bright." 
Sabre,  reading,  exclaimed  aloud,  "  By  Jove,  that 's  good. 
I  am  glad."  And  he  thought,  "  Jolly  little  Effie !  That 's 
splendid."  He  somehow  liked  immensely  the  idea  of 
imagining  Bright  Effie  about  the  house.  He  thought, 
"  I  wish  she  could  have  been  in  long  ago,  when  I  was 
there.  It  would  have  made  a  difference.  Some  one  be 
tween  us.  We  used  to  work  on  one  another's  nerves. 
That  was  our  trouble.  Pretty  little  Effie !  How  jolly  it 
would  have  been!  Like  a  jolly  little  sister." 

He  puckered  his  brows  a  little  as  he  read  on  to  Mabel's 
further  reflections  on  the  new  enterprise :  "Of  course 
she  's  not  our  class  but  she  's  quite  ladylike  and  on  the 
whole  I  think  it  just  as  well  not  to  have  a  lady.  It  might 
be  very  difficult  sometimes  to  give  orders  to  any  one  of 
one's  own  standing." 

He  didn't  quite  like  that;  but  after  all  it  was  only 
just  Mabel's  way  of  looking  at  things.  It  was  the  j oiliest 
possible  idea.  He  wrote  back  enthusiastically  about  it 
and  always  after  Effie  was  installed  inquired  after  her  in 
his  letters. 

But  Mabel  did  not  reply  to  these  inquiries. 

Ill 

He  was  writing  regularly  to  Nona  and  regularly  hear 
ing  from  her.  He  never  could  quite  make  out  where  she 
was,  addressing  her  only  to  her  symbol  in  the  Field  post- 
office.  She  was  car  driving  and  working  very  long 


IF    WINTER    COMES  303 

hours.  There  was  one  letter  that  he  never  posted  but 
of  the  existence  of  which  he  permitted  himself  to  tell 
her.  "  I  carry  it  about  with  me  always  in  my  Pay-book. 
It  is  addressed  to  you.  If  ever  I  get  outed  it  will  go  to 
you.  In  it  I  have  said  everything  that  I  have  never  said 
to  you  but  that  you  know  without  my  saying  it.  There  '11 
be  no  harm  in  your  hearing  it  from  my  own  hand  if  I  'm 
dead.  I  keep  on  adding  to  it.  Every  time  we  come  back 
into  rest,  I  add  a  little  more.  It  all  could  be  said  in  the 
three  words  we  have  never  said  to  one  another.  But  all 
the  words  that  I  could  ever  write  would  never  say  them 
to  you  as  I  feel  them.  There !  I  must  say  no  more  of  it. 
I  ought  not  to  have  said  so  much." 

And  she  wrote,  "  Marko,  I  can  read  your  letter,  every 
line  of  it.  I  lie  awake,  Marko,  and  imagine  it  to  myself 
—  word  by  word,  line  by  line;  and  word  by  word,  line 
by  line,  in  the  same  words  and  in  the  same  lines,  I  answer 
it.  So  when  you  read  it  to  yourself  for  me,  read  it  for 
yourself  from  me.  Oh,  Marko  — 

"  That  I  ever  shall  have  cause  to  read  it  in  actual  fact 
I  pray  God  never  to  permit.  But  so  many  women  are 
praying  for  so  many  men,  and  daily  — .  So  I  am  praying 
beyond  that:  for  myself;  for  strength,  if  anything  should 
happen  to  you,  to  turn  my  heart  to  God.  You  see,  then 
I  can  say,  '  God  keep  you  —  in  any  amazement.' ' 

IV 

Early  in  December  he  wrote  to  Mabel : 

"  A  most  extraordinary  thing  has  happened.  I  'm 
coming  home !  I  shall  be  with  you  almost  on  top  of  this. 
It 's  too  astonishing.  I  Ve  suddenly  been  told  that  I  'm 
one  of  five  men  in  the  battalion  who  have  been  selected 
to  go  home  to  an  Officer  Cadet  battalion  for  a  commission. 
Don't  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  I  'm  the  Pride  of  the 


304  IF   WINTER    COMES 

Regiment  or  anything  like  that.  It 's  simply  due  to  two 
things :  one  that  this  is  not  the  kind  of  battalion  with 
many  men  who  would  think  of  taking  commissions;  the 
other  that  both  my  platoon  officer  and  the  captain  of  my 
company  happen  to  be  Old  Tidburians  and,  as  I  've  told 
you,  have  often  been  rather  decent  to  me.  So  when  this 
chance  came  along  the  rest  was  easy.  I  know  you  '11  be 
glad.  You  've  never  liked  the  idea  of  my  being  in  the 
ranks.  But  it 's  rather  wonderful,  isn't  it  ?  I  hope  to  be 
home  on  the  third  and  I  go  to  the  Cadet  battalion,  at 
Cambridge,  on  the  fifth." 

Two  days  later  he  started,  very  high  of  spirit,  for 
England.  As  he  was  leaving  the  village  where  the  bat 
talion  was  resting  —  his  immediate  programme  the  ad 
venture  of  "  lorry-jumping  "  to  the  railhead  —  the  mail 
came  in  and  brought  him  a  letter  from  Mabel.  It  had 
crossed  his  own  and  a  paragraph  in  it  somehow  damped 
the  tide  of  his  spirits. 

"  I  was  very  much  annoyed  with  Miss  Bright  yester 
day.  I  had  been  kept  rather  late  at  our  Red  Cross  Supply 
Depot  owing  to  an  urgent  call  for  accessories  and  when  I 
came  home  I  found  that  Miss  Bright  had  actually  taken 
what  I  consider  the  great  liberty  of  ordering  up  tea 
without  waiting  for  me.  I  considered  it  great  presump 
tion  on  her  part  and  told  her  so.  I  find  her  taking 
liberties  in  many  ways.  It 's  always  the  way  with  that 
class,  —  once  you  treat  them  kindly  they  turn  on  you. 
However,  I  have,  I  think,  made  it  quite  clear  to  her  that 
she  is  not  here  for  the  purpose  of  giving  her  own  orders 
and  being  treated  like  a  princess." 

It  clouded  his  excitement.  His  thought  was,  "  Damn 
it,  I  hope  she  is  n't  bullying  Effie." 

He  had  the  luck  almost  at  once  to  jump  a  lorry  that 
would  lift  him  a  long  bit  on  his  road,  and  the  driver 
felicitated  him  with  envious  cheerfulness  on  being  off 


IF   WINTER    COMES  305 

for  "  leaf."  He  would  have  responded  with  immense 
heartiness  before  reading  that  letter.  With  Mabel's  tart 
sentences  in  his  mind  a  certain  gloom,  a  rather  vexed 
gloom,  bestrode  him.  Her  words  presented  her  aspect 
and  her  attitude  and  her  atmosphere  with  a  reminiscent 
flavour  that  took  the  edge  off  his  eagerness  for  home. 
On  the  road  when  the  lorry  had  dropped  him,  on  the 
interminable  journey  in  the  train,  on  the  boat,  the  feeling 
remained  with  him.  England  —  England !  —  merged 
into  view  across  the  water,  and  he  was  astonished,  as  his 
heart  bounded  for  joy  at  Folkestone  coming  into  sight, 
to  realise  from  what  depression  of  mind  it  bounded  away. 
He  was  ashamed  of  himself  and  perturbed  with  himself 
that  he  had  not  more  relished  the  journey :  the  journey 
that  was  the  most  glorious  thing  in  the  dreams  of  every 
man  in  France.  He  thought,  "Well,  what  am  I  coming 
home  to  ?  " 

The  train  went  speeding  through  the  English  fields,  — 
dear,  familiar,  English  lands,  sodden  and  bare  and  un 
speakably  exquisite  to  him  in  their  December  mood.  He 
gazed  upon  them,  flooding  all  his  heart  out  to  them.  He 
thought,  "  Why  should  there  be  anything  to  make  me 
feel  depressed?  Why  should  things  be  the  same  as  they 
used  to  be?  But  dash  that  letter.  .  .  .  Dash  it,  I  hope 
she  's  not  been  bullying  that  girl." 

V 

He  made  rather  a  boisterous  entry  into  the  house  on 
his  arrival,  arriving  in  the  morning  before  breakfast. 
He  entered  the  hall  just  after  eight  o'clock  and  announced 
himself  with  a  loud,  "  Hullo,  everybody!  "  and  thumped 
the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the  floor.  An  enormous  crash  in 
the  kitchen  and  a  shriek  of  "  It 's  the  master !  "  heralded 
the  tumultuous  discharge  upon  him  of  High  Jinks  and 


306  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Low  Jinks.  Effie  appeared  from  the  dining  room.  He 
was  surrounded  and  enthusiastically  shaking  hands. 
"  Hullo,  you  Jinkses !  Is  n't  this  ripping  ?  By  Jove,  High 
-  and  Low  —  it 's  famous  to  see  you  again.  Hullo, 
Effie!  Just  fancy  you  being  here!  How  jolly  fine,  eh? 
High  Jinks,  I  want  the  most  enormous  breakfast  you  've 
ever  cooked.  Got  any  kippers  ?  Good  girl.  That 's  the 
stuff  to  give  the  troops.  Where  's  the  Mistress  ?  Not 
down  yet  ?  I  '11  go  up.  Low  Jinks  —  Low  Jinks,  I  'm 
dashed  if  you  are  n't  crying !  Well,  it  is  jolly  nice  to  see 
you  again,  Low.  How  's  the  old  bike?  Look  here,  Low, 
I  want  the  most  boiling  bath  —  " 

He  broke  off.  "  Hullo,  Mabel !  Hullo !  Did  you  get 
my  letter?  I 'm  coming  up." 

Mabel  was  in  a  wrapper  at  the  head  of  the  stairs-  He 
ran  up.  "  I  'm  simply  filthy.  Do  you  mind?"  He  took 
her  hand. 

She  said,  "  I  never  dreamt  you  'd  be  here  at  this  hour. 
How  are  you,  Mark  ?  Yes,  I  got  your  letter.  But  I  never 
expected  you  till  this  evening.  It 's  very  annoying  that 
nothing  is  ready  for  you.  Sarah,  something  is  burning 
in  the  kitchen.  I  should  n't  stand  there,  Rebecca,  with 
so  much  to  be  done;  and  I  think  you  Ve  forgotten  your 
cap.  Miss  Bright,  —  oh,  she  's  gone." 

Just  the  same  Mabel !  But  he  was  n't  going  to  let  her 
be  the  same !  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  that  as  he  had 
come  along  with  eager  strides  from  the  station.  She 
turned  to  him  and  they  exchanged  their  greetings  and  he 
went  on,  pursuing  his  resolution,  "  Look  here,  I  've  got  a 
tremendous  idea.  When  I  get  through  this  cadet  busi 
ness  I  shall  have  quite  a  bit  of  leave  and  my  Sam  Browne 
belt.  I  thought  we  'd  go  up  to  town  and  stick  up  at  an 
hotel  —  the  Savoy  or  somewhere  —  and  have  no  end  of 
a  bust.  Theatres  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Shall  we?  " 

That  chilly,  vexed  manner  of  hers,  caused  as  he  well 


IF   WINTER    COMES  307 

knew  by  the  uproar  of  his  arrival,  disappeared.  "  Oh, 
I  'd  love  to.  Yes,  do  let  's.  Now  you  want  a  bath,  don't 
you?  I'm  annoyed  there  was  all  that  disturbance  just 
when  I  was  meeting  you.  I  've  been  having  a  little 
trouble  lately  —  " 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind  that  now,  Mabel.  Come  and 
watch  me  struggle  out  of  this  pack.  Yes,  look  here,  as 
soon  as  ever  I  know  for  certain  when  the  course  ends 
we  '11  write  for  rooms  at  the  Savoy.  I  hear  you  have  to 
do  it  weeks  ahead.  We  '11  spend  pots  of  money  and  have 
no  end  of  a  time." 

She  reflected  his  good  spirits.  Ripping  !  He  splashed 
and  wallowed  m  the  bath,  singing  lustily  one  of  the  songs 
out  there  : 

"Ho,  ho.  ho,  it  's  a  lovely  war  !  " 


ut  the  three  days  at  home  were  not  TO  go  on 
singing  note.  They  were  marred  by  the  aiscovery 
his  suspicion  was  well  founded;  she  was  bullying  Effie. 
He  began  to  notice  it  at  once.  Effie,  with  whom  he  had 
anticipated  a  lot  of  fun,  was  different:  not  nearly  so 
bright;  subdued;  her  eyes,  not  always,  but  only  by  oc 
casional  flashes,  sparkling  that  intense  appreciation  of 
the  oddities  of  life  that  had  so  much  attracted  him  in  her. 
Yes,  dash  it,  Mabel  was  treating  her  in  a  rotten  way. 
Bullying.  No,  it  was  not  exactly  bullying,  it  was  snub 
bing,  a  certain  acid  quality  always  present  in  Mabel's 
voice  when  she  addressed  her,  —  that  and  a  manner  of 
always  being  what  he  thought  of  as  "  at  her."  The  girl 
seemed  to  have  an  astonishing  number  of  quite  trivial 
duties  to  perform  —  trivial;  there  certainly  was  no  sug 
gestion  of  her  being  imposed  upon  as  he  had  always  felt 
Miss  Bypass  up  at  the  vicarage  was  imposed  upon,  but 


308  IF   WINTER   COMES 

Mabel  was  perpetually  and  acidly  "  at  her  "  over  one 
trivial  thing  or  another.  It  was  forever,  "  Miss  Bright, 
I  think  you  ought  to  be  in  the  morning  room,  ought  n't 
you?  "  "  Miss  Bright,  I  really  must  ask  you  not  to  leave 
your  door  open  every  time  you  come  out  of  your  room. 
You  know  how  I  dislike  the  doors  standing  open." 
"  Miss  Bright,  if  you  've  finished  your  tea,  there  's  really 
no  need  for  you  to  remain." 

He  hated  it.  He  said  nothing,  but  it  was  often  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue  to  say  something,  and  he  showed  that 
he  intensely  disliked  it,  and  he  knew  that  Mabel  knew  he 
disliked  it.  On  the  whole  it  was  rather  a  relief  when  the 
three  days  were  up  and  he  went  down  t$  the  Cadet  bat 
talion  at  Cambridge. 

In  March  he  came  back,  a  second  lieutenant;  and  im- 
mediately,  when  in  time  to  come  he  looked  back,  things  * 
set  in  train  for  that  ultimate  encounter  with  life  which 
was  awaiting  him. 

THe  projected  visit* to  town  did  not  come  off.  While 
he  was  at  Cambridge  Mabel  wrote  to  say  that  the  Garden 
Home  Amateur  Dramatic  Society  was  going  to  do  "  His 
Excellency  The  Governor  "  in  aid  of  the  Red  Cross  funds 
at  the  end  of  March.  She  was  taking  part,  she  was  fear 
fully  excited  about  it,  and  as  rehearsals  began  early  in  the 
month  she  naturally  could  not  be  away.  She  was  sure 
he  would  understand  and  would  not  mind. 

He  did  not  mind  in  the  least.  They  were  years  past 
the  stage  when  it  would  have  so  much  as  crossed  his  mind 
that  she  might  give  up  this  engagement  for  the  sake  of 
spending  his  leave  on  a  bit  of  gaiety  in  town;  he  had 
only  suggested  the  idea  on  her  account;  personally  he 
much  preferred  the  prospect  of  doing  long  walks  about 
his  beloved  countryside  now  passing  into  spring. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  309 

VII 

Arriving,  he  began  at  once  to  do  so.  He  went  over 
for  one  visit  to  the  office  at  Tidborough.  Not  so  much 
enthusiasm  greeted  him  as  to  encourage  a  second.  Twyn 
ing  and  Mr.  Fortune  were  immersed  in  adapting  the 
workshops  to  war  work  for  the  Government.  Normal 
business  was  coming  to  a  standstill.  Now  Twyning  had 
conceived  the  immense,  patriotic,  and  profitable  idea  of 
making  aeroplane  parts,  and  it  was  made  sufficiently 
clear  to  Sabre  that,  so  long  away  and  immediately  to  be 
off  again,  there  could  be  no  interest  for  him  in  the  enter 
prise. 

'  You  won't  want  to  go  into  all  we  are  doing,  my 
dear  fellow/'  said  Mr.  Fortune.  "  Your  hard-earned 
leave,  eh  ?  We  must  n't  expect  you  to  give  it  up  to  bus 
iness,  eh,  Twyning?  " 

And  Twyning  responded,  "  No,  no,  old  man.  Not 
likely,  old  man.  Well,  it 's  jolly  to  see  you  in  the  office 
again  " ;  and  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  said  a  word 
to  Mr.  Fortune  about  "  Meeting  that  man  "  with  an  air 
which  quite  clearly  informed  Sabre  that  it  would  be 
jollier  still  to  see  him  put  on  his  cap  and  walk  out  of  the 
office  again. 

Well,  it  was  only  what  he  had  expected;  a  trifle  pro 
nounced,  perhaps,  but  the  obvious  sequel  to  their  latter- 
day  manner  towards  him:  they  had  wanted  to  get  him 
out;  he  was  out  and  they  desired  to  keep  him  out. 

He  rose  to  go.  "  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  I  'm  not  going 
to  keep  you.  I  only  called  in  to  show  off  my  officer's 
uniform." 

Twyning  said,  "  Yes,  congratulations  again,  old  man." 
He  laughed.  "  You  must  n't  think  you  're  going  to  have 
Harold  saluting  you  though,  if  you  ever  meet.  He  's 
getting  a  commission  too."  His  manner,  directly  he  be- 


310  IF    WINTER    COMES 

gan  to  speak  of  Harold,  changed  to  that  enormous  affec 
tion  and  admiration  for  his  son  which  Sabre  well  remem 
bered  on  the  occasion  of  Harold  joining  up.  His  face 
shone,  his  mouth  trembled  with  loving  pride  at  what  Har 
old  had  been  through  and  what  he  had  done.  And  he  was 
such  a  good  boy,  —  wrote  twice  a  week  to  his  mother 
and  once  when  he  was  sick  in  hospital  the  Padre  of  his 
battalion  had  written  to  say  what  a  good  and  sterling  boy 
he  was.  Yes,  he  had  been  recommended  for  a  commis 
sion  and  was  coming  home  that  month  to  a  Cadet  battal 
ion  at  Bournemouth. 

When  Sabre  made  his  congratulations  Twyning  ac 
companied  him  downstairs  to  the  street  and  warmly 
shook  his  hand.  "  Thanks,  old  man ;  thanks  most  aw 
fully.  Yes,  he  's  everything  to  me,  my  Harold.  And  of 
course  it 's  a  strain  never  knowing.  .  .  .  Well,  well,  he  's 
in  God's  hands ;  and  he 's  such  a  good,  earnest  boy." 

Extraordinarily  different  Twyning  the  father  of  Har 
old,  and  Twyning  in  daily  relations. 

VIII 

His  leave  drew  on.  He  might  get  his  orders  any  day 
now.  Mabel  was  much  occupied  with  her  rehearsals. 
He  spent  his  time  in  long  walks  alone  and,  whenever 
they  were  possible,  in  the  old  evenings  with  Mr.  Fargus. 
In  Mabel's  absence  he  and  Effie  were  much  thrown  to 
gether.  Mabel  frequently  came  upon  them  thus  together, 
and  when  she  did  she  had  a  mannerism  that  somehow 
seemed  to  suggest  "  catching  "  them  together.  And  some 
times  she  used  that  expression.  It  would  have  been  un 
commonly  jolly  to  have  had  Bright  Effie  as  companion  on 
the  walks,  and  once  or  twice  he  did.  But  Mabel  showed 
very  clearly  that  this  was  very  far  from  having  her  approval 
and  on  the  second  occasion  said  so.  There  was  the  slight- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  311 

est  possible  little  tiff  about  it ;  and  thenceforward  —  the 
subject  having  been  opened  —  there  were  frequent  little 
passages  over  Effie,  arising  always  out  of  his  doing  what 
Mabel  called  "  forever  sticking  up  for  her."  How  fre 
quent  they  were,  and  how  much  they  annoyed  Mabel,  he 
did  not  realise  until,  in  the  last  week  of  his  leave,  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  sticking  up  for  her  scene,  Mabel  surpris 
ingly  announced,  "  Well,  anyway  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of 
the  girl,  and  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of  having  you  always 
sticking  up  for  her,  and  I  'm  going  to  get  rid  of  her  — 
to-morrow." 

He  said,  "To-morrow?  How  can  you?  I  don't  say 
it 's  not  the  best  thing  to  do.  She  's  pretty  miserable,  I 
should  imagine,  the  way  you  're  always  picking  at  her, 
but  you  can't  rush  her  off  like  that,  Mabel." 

"  Well,  I  'm  going  to.  I  'm  going  to  pay  her  up  and 
let  her  go." 

"But,  Mabel  —  what  will  her  people  think?" 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  they  think.  If  you  're  so 
concerned  about  the  precious  girl,  I  '11  tell  her  mother 
that  I  was  going  to  make  other  arrangements  in  any  case 
and  that  as  this  was  your  last  week  we  thought  we  'd  like 
to  be  alone  together.  Will  that  satisfy  you?  " 

"  I  hope  it  will  satisfy  them.  And  I  hope  very  much 
indeed  that  you  won't  do  it." 

IX 

But  she  did  do  it.  On  the  following  day  Effie  left. 
Sabre,  pretending  to  know  nothing  about  it,  went  for  a 
long  walk  all  day.  When  he  returned  Effie  had  gone. 
He  said  nothing.  Her  name  was  not  again  mentioned 
between  him  and  Mabel.  It  happened  that  the  only  ref 
erence  to  her  sudden  departure  in  which  he  was  con 
cerned  was  with  Twyning. 

Setting  out  on  his  return  to  France  —  his  orders  were 


312  IF   WINTER    COMES 

to  join  a  Fusilier  battalion,  reporting  to  34th  Division  — 
he  found  Twyning  on  the  platform  at  Tidborough  station 
buying  a  paper. 

"  Hullo,  old  man/'  said  Twyning.  "  Just  off?  I  say, 
old  man,  old  Bright 's  very  upset  about  Effie  getting 
the  sack  from  your  place  like  that.  How  was  it?  " 

He  felt  himself  flush.  Beastly,  having  to  defend  Ma 
bel's  unfairness  like  this.  "  Oh,  I  fancy  my  wife  had  the 
idea  of  getting  some  relation  to  live  with  her,  that 's  all." 

Twyning  was  looking  keenly  at  him.  "  Oh,  I  see.  But 
a  bit  sudden,  was  n't  it  ?  I  mean  to  say,  I  thought  you 
were  on  such  friendly  terms  with  the  girl.  Why,  only  a 
couple  of  days  before  she  left  I  saw  you  with  her  having 
tea  in  the  Cloister  tea  rooms.  I  don't  think  you  saw  me, 
did  you,  old  man?  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't.  Yes,  I  remember;  we  were  waiting  for 
my  wife.  There  'd  been  a  dress  rehearsal  of  this  play 
down  at  the  Corn  Exchange." 

"  Oh,  yes,  waiting  for  your  wife,  were  you?  "  Twyn 
ing  appeared  to  be  thinking.  "  Well,  that 's  what  I  mean, 
old  man.  So  friendly  with  the  girl  —  both  of  you  —  and 
then  sending  her  off  so  suddenly  like  that." 

Sabre  essayed  to  laugh  it  off.  "  My  wife  's  rather  a 
sudden  person,  you  know." 

Twyning  joined  very  heartily  in  the  laugh.  "  Is  she?  " 
He  looked  around.  "  She  's  seeing  you  off,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,  she  's  not.  She  's  not  too  well.  Got  a  rotten 
cold." 

Twyning  stared  again  in  what  struck  Sabre  as  rather 
an  odd  way.  "  Oh,  I  'm  sorry,  old  man.  Nothing  much, 
I  hope.  Well,  you  '11  want  to  be  getting  in.  I  '11  tell  old 
Bright  what  you  say  about  Effie.  Nothing  in  it.  I  quite 
understand.  Seemed  a  bit  funny  at  first,  that 's  all. 
Good-by,  old  man.  Jolly  good  luck.  Take  care  of  your 
self.  Jolly  good  luck." 


IF  WINTER    COMES  313 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  squeezed  Sabre's  in  his  in 
tensely  friendly  grip;  and  destiny  put  out  its  hand  and 
added  another  and  a  vital  hour  to  Sabre's  ultimate  en 
counter  with  life. 

X 

His  leave  ended  with  the  one  thing  utterly  unexpected 
and  flagrantly  impossible.  One  of  those  meetings  so 
astounding  in  the  fact  that  the  deviation  of  a  single 
minute,  of  half  a  minute,  of  what  one  has  been  doing 
previously  would  have  prevented  it;  and  out  of  it  one  of 
those  frightful  things  that  ought  to  come  with  premoni 
tion,  by  hints,  by  stages,  but  that  come  careering  head 
long  as  though  malignity,  bitter  and  wanton,  had  loosed 
a  savage  bolt. 

He  arranged  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Officers'  Rest 
House  near  Victoria  station.  Arriving  about  nine  and 
disinclined  for  food,  he  strolled  up  to  St.  James's  Park 
and  walked  about  a  little,  then  back  to  the  station  and 
into  the  yard  to  buy  a  paper.  He  stood  on  a  streei 
refuge  to  let  by  a  cab  coming  out  of  the  station.  As  it 
passed  he  saw  its  occupants  —  two  women ;  and  one  saw 
him  —  Nona !  Of  all  incredible  things,  Nona ! 

She  stopped  the  cab  and  he  hurried  after  it. 

"Nona!" 

"Marko!" 

She  said,  "  I  'm  hurrying  to  Euston  to  catch  a  train. 
Tony's  mother  is  with  me/' 

He  could  not  see  her  well  in  the  dim  light,  but  he 
thought  she  looked  terribly  pale  and  fatigued.  And  her 
manner  odd.  He  said,  "  I  'm  just  going  back.  But  youf 
Nona?  I  thought  you  were  in  France?  " 

"  I  was  —  this  morning.    I  only  came  over  to-day." 

How  funny  her  voice  was.  "  Nona,  you  look  ilL 
You  sound  ill.  What 's  up  ?  Is  anything  wrong  ?  " 


314  IF    WINTER    COMES 

She  said,  "  Oh,  Marko,  Tony  's  killed." 

"Nona!" 

.  .  .  That  came  careering  headlong,  as  though  malig 
nity,  bitter  and  wanton,  had  loosed  a  savage  bolt. 

Tybar  killed !  The-  cab  was  away  and  he  was  standing 
there.  Tybar  killed.  She  had  said  they  were  hurrying 
to  Scotland,  to  Tony's  home.  Tybar  killed!  He  was 
getting  in  people's  way.  He  went  rather  uncertainly  to 
the  railings  bounding  the  pavement  where  he  stood,  and 
leaned  against  them  and  stared  across  into  the  dim  cavern 
of  the  station  yard.  Tybar  dead.  .  .  .  1 

1  At  a  much  later  date  Nona  told  Sabre  of  Tony's  death : 

"  It  was  in  that  advance  of  ours.  Just  before  Vimy  Ridge.  At 
Arras.  Marko,  he  was  shot  down  leading  his  men.  He  would  n't 
let  them  take  him  away.  He  was  cheering  them  on.  And  then  he 
was  hit  again.  He  was  terribly  wounded.  Oh,  terribly.  They  got 
him  down  to  the  clearing  station.  They  did  n't  think  he  could 
possibly  live.  But  you  know  how  wonderful  he  always  was.  Even 
in  death  that  extraordinary  spirit  of  his.  .  .  .  They  got  him  to 
Boulogne.  I  was  there  and  I  heard  quite  by  chance." 

"  You  saw  him,  Nona?  " 

She  nodded.  "Just  before  he  died.  He  couldn't  speak.  But 
he'd. been  speaking  just  before  I  came.  He  left  a  message  with  the 
nurse." 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Marko,  the  nurse  gave  me  the  mes 
sage.  She  thought  it  was  for  me  —  and  it  was  n't." 

She  wiped  her  eyes.  "  He  was  watching  us.  I  know  he  knew 
she  was  telling  me,  and  his  eyes  —  you  know  that  mocking  kind  of 
look  they  used  to  have?  Poor  Tony!  It  was  there.  He  died  like 
that.  .  .  .  Marko,  you  know  I'm  very  glad  he  just  had  his  old 
mocking  way  while  he  died.  Now  it 's  over  I  'm  glad.  I  would  n't 
have  had  him  sorry  and  unhappy  just  when  he  was  dying.  He  was 
just  utterly  untouched  by  anything  all  his  life,  not  to  be  judged  as 
ordinary  people  are  judged,  and  I  know  perfectly  well  he  'd  have 
wished  to  go  out  just  his  mocking,  careless  self  to  the  last.  He 
was  utterly  splendid.  All  that  was  between  us,  that  was  nothing 
once  the  war  came.  Always  think  kindly  of  him,  Marko." 

Sabre  said,  "  I  do.     I  've  never  been  able  but  to  admire  him." 

She  said,  "  Every  one  did.     Poor  Tony.     Brave  Tony !  " 


IF   WINTER    COMES  315 

XI 

On  the  following  morning  he  crossed  to  France,  there 
to  take  up  again  that  strange  identity  in  whose  occupancy 
his  own  self  was  held  in  abeyance,  waiting  his  return. 
Seven  months  passed  before  he  returned  to  that  waiting 
identity  and  he  resumed  it  then  permanently,  —  done 
with  the  war.  The  tremendous  fighting  of  1917  —  his 
participation  in  the  war  —  his  tenancy  of  the  strange 
personality  caught  up  in  the  enormous  machinery  of  it 
all  —  ended  for  him  in  the  great  break  through  of  the 
Hindenburg  Line  in  November.  On  top  of  a  recollection 
of  sudden  shock,  then  of  whirling  giddiness  in  which 
he  was  conscious  of  some  enormous  violence  going  on 
but  could  not  feel  it  —  like  (as  he  afterwards  thought) 
beginning  to  come  to  in  the  middle  of  a  tooth  extraction 
under  gas  —  on  the  top  of  these  and  of  extraordinary 
things  and  scenes  and  people  he  could  not  at  all  under 
stand  came  some  one  saying : 

"  Well,  it 's  good-by  to  the  war  for  you,  old  man." 

He  knew  that  he  was  aware  —  and  somehow  for  some 
time  had  been  aware  —  that  he  was  in  a  cot  in  a  ship. 
He  said,  "  I  got  knocked  out,  did  n't  I  ?  " 

.  .  .  Some  one  was  telling  him  some  interminable 
story  about  some  one  being  wounded  in  the  shoulder  and 
in  the  knee.  He  said,  and  his  voice  appeared  to  him  to 
be  all  jumbled  up  and  thick,  "  Well,  I  don't  care  a  damn." 

.  .  .  Some  one  laughed. 

Years  —  or  minutes  —  after  this  he  was  talking  to  a 
nurse.  He  said,  "  What  did  some  one  say  to  me  about  it 
being  good-by  to  the  war  for  me  ?  " 

The  nurse  smiled.  "  Well,  poor  thing,  you  Ve  got  it 
rather  badly  in  the  knee,  you  know." 

He  puzzled  over  this.  Presently  he  said,  "  Where  are 
we?" 


316  IF   WINTER   COMES 

The  nurse  bent  across  the  cot  and  peered  through  the 
port ;  then  beamed  down  on  him : 

"England!" 

She  said,  "Aren't  you  glad?     What's  the  matter?" 

His  face  was  contracted  in  intensity  of  thought,  ex 
traordinary  thought:  he  felt  the  most  extraordinary 
premonition  of  something  disastrous  awaiting  him :  there 
was  in  his  mind,  meaninglessly,  menacingly,  over  and 
over  again,  "  Good  luck  have  thee  with  thine  honour  .  .  . 
and  thy  right  hand  shall  show  thee  terrible  things,  ..." 

"Terrible  things!" 


PART    FOUR 
MABEL  —  EFFIE  —  NONA 


CHAPTER   I 


SAID  Hapgood  —  that  garrulous  Hapgood,  solicitor, 
who  first  in  this  book  spoke  of  Sabre  to  a  mutual  friend 
—  said  Hapgood,  seated  in  the  comfortable  study  of  his 
flat,  to  that  same  friend,  staying  the  night : 

"  Well,  now,  old  man,  about  Sabre.  Well,  I  tell  you 
it 's  a  funny  business  —  a  dashed  funny  business,  the 
position  old  Puzzlehead  Sabre  has  got  himself  into.  Of 
course  you,  with  your  coarse  and  sordid  instincts,  will 
say  it 's  just  what  it  appears  to  be  and  a  very  old  story  at 
that.  Whereas  to  me,  with  my  exquisitely  delicate  sus* 
ceptibilities.  .  .  .  No,  don't  throw  that,  old  man.  Sorry. 
I  '11  be  serious.  What  I  want  just  to  kick  off  with  is  that 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  've  never  been  the  sort 
of  chap  who  wept  he  knows  not  why;  I  've  never  nursed 
a  tame  gazelle  or  any  of  that  sort  of  stuff.  In  fact  I  've 
got  about  as  much  sentiment  in  me  as  there  is  in  a  pound 
of  lard.  But  when  I  see  this  poor  beggar  Sabre  as  he  is 
now,  and  when  I  hear  him  talk  as  he  talked  to  me  about 
his  position  last  week,  and  when  I  see  how  grey  and  ill 
he  looks,  hobbling  about  on  his  old  stick,  well,  I  tell  you, 
old  man,  I  get  —  well,  look  here,  here  it  is  from  the 
Let  Go. 

"  Look  here,  this  is  April,  April,  1918,  by  all  that 's 
Hunnish  —  dashed  nearly  four  years  of  this  infernal 
war.  Well,  old  Sabre  got  knocked  out  in  France  just 
about  five  months  ago,  back  in  November.  He  copped  it 
twice  —  shoulder  and  knee.  Shoulder  nothing  much; 


320  IF   WINTER   COMES 

knee  pretty  bad.  Thought  they  'd  have  to  take  his  leg  off, 
one  time.  Thought  better  of  it,  thanks  be;  patched  him 
up;  discharged  him  from  the  Army;  and  sent  him  home — 
very  groggy,  onl,y  just  able  to  put  the  bad  leg  to  the 
ground,  crutches,  and  going  to  be  a  stick  and  a  bit  of  a 
limp  all  his  life.  Poor  old  Puzzlehead.  Think  yourself 
lucky  you  were  a  Conscientious  Objector,  old  man.  .  .  . 
Oh,  damn  you,  that  hurt. 

"  Very  well.  That 's  as  he  was  when  I  first  saw  him 
again.  Just  making  first  attempts  in  the  stick  and  limp 
stage,  poor  beggar.  That  was  back  in  February.  Early 
in  February.  Mark  the  date,  as  they  say  in  the  detective 
stories.  I  can't  remember  what  the  date  was,  but  never  you 
mind.  You  just  mark  it.  Early  in  February,  two  months 
ago.  There  was  good  old  me  down  in  Tidborough  on 
business  —  good  old  me  doing  the  heavy  London  solicitor 
in  a  provincial  town  —  they  always  put  down  a  red  car 
pet  for  me  at  the  station,  you  know ;  rather  decent,  don't 
you  think  ?  —  and  remembering  about  old  Sabre  having 
been  wounded  and  discharged,  blew  into  Fortune,  East 
and  Sabre's  (business  was  n't  with  them  this  time)  for 
news  of  him. 

"Of  course  he  was  n't  there.  Saw  old  Fortune  and 
the  man  Twyning  and  found  them  in  regard  to  Sabre 
about  as  genial  and  communicative  as  a  maiden  aunt 
over  a  married  sister's  new  dress.  Old  Fortune  looking 
like  a  walking  pulpit  in  a  thundercloud  —  I  should  say 
he'd  make  about  four  of  me  round  the  equator;  and 
mind  you,  a  chap  stopped  me  in  the  street  the  other  day 
and  offered  me  a  job  as  Beefeater  outside  a  moving- 
picture  show :  yes,  fact,  I  was  wretchedly  annoyed  about 
it  —  and  the  man  Twyning  with  a  lean  and  hungry 
look  like  Cassius,  or  was  it  Judas  Iscariot?  Well,  like 
Cassius  out  of  a  job  or  Judas  Iscariot  in  the  middle  of 
one,  anyway.  That 's  Twyning's  sort.  Chap  I  never 


IF   WINTER    COMES  321 

cottoned  on  to  a  bit.  They  'd  precious  little  to  say  about 
Sabre.  Sort  of  handed  out  the  impression  that  he  'd 
been  out  of  the  business  so  long  that  really  they  were  n't 
much  in  touch  with  his  doings.  Rather  rotten,  I  thought 
it,  seeing  that  the  poor  beggar  had  done  his  bit  in  the  war 
and  done  it  pretty  thoroughly  too.  They  said  that  really 
they  hardly  knew  when  he  'd  be  fit  to  get  back  to  work 
again ;  not  just  yet  awhile,  anyway.  And,  yes,  he  was  at 
home  over  at  Penny  Green,  so  far  as  they  knew,  —  in  the 
kind  of  tone  that  they  did  n't  know  much  and  cared  less : 
at  least,  that  was  the  impression  they  gave  me;  only  my 
fancy,  I  daresay,  as  the  girl  said  when  she  thought  the 
soldier  sat  a  bit  too  close  to  her  in  the  tram. 

"  Well,  I  'd  nothing  to  do  till  my  train  pulled  out  in 
the  afternoon,  so  I  hopped  it  over  to  Penny  Green  Gar 
den  Home  on  the  railway  and  walked  down  to  old  Sabre's 
to  scoop  a  free  lunch  off  him.  Found  him  a  bit  down  the 
road  from  his  house  trying  out  this  game  leg  of  his.  By 
Jove,  he  was  no  end  bucked  to  see  me.  Came  bounding 
along,  dot  and  carry  one,  beaming  all  over  his  old  phiz, 
and  wrung  my  honest  hand  as  if  he  was  Robinson  Crusoe 
discovering  Man  Friday  on  a  desert  island.  I  know  I  'm 
called  Popular  Percy  by  thousands  who  can  only  admire 
me  from  afar,  but  I  tell  you  old  Sabre  fairly  overwhelmed 
me.  And  talk !  He  simply  jabbered.  I  said,  '  By  Jove, 
Sabre,  one  would  think  you  had  n't  met  any  one  for  a 
month  the  way  you  're  unbelting  the  sacred  rites  of  wel 
come/  He  laughed  and  said,  *  Well,  you  see,  I  'm  a  bit 
tied  to  a  post  with  this  leg  of  mine/ 

"  'How's  the  wife?  'said  I. 

"'  She  's  fine,'  said  he.  '  You  '11  stay  to  lunch  ?  I  say, 
Hapgood,  you  will  stay  to  lunch,  won't  you  ?  ' 

"  I  told  him  that 's  what  I  'd  come  for;  and  he  seemed 
no  end  relieved,  —  so  relieved  that  I  think  I  must  have 
cocked  my  eye  at  him  or  something,  because  he  said  in  an 


322  IF    WINTER    COMES 

apologetic  sort  of  way,  '  I  mean,  because  my  wife  will  be 
delighted.  It 's  a  bit  dull  for  her  nowadays,  only  me  and 
always  me,  crawling  about  more  or  less  helpless.' 

"  It  struck  me  afterwards  —  oh,  well,  never  mind  that 
now.  I  said,  '  I  suppose  she  's  making  no  end  of  a  fuss 
over  you  now,  hero  of  the  war,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  rather ! '  says  old  Sabre,  and  a  minute  or  two 
later,  as  if  he  had  n't  said  it  heartily  enough,  '  Oh,  rather. 
Rather,  I  should  think  so.'  " 

II 

"  Well,  we  staggered  along  into  the  house,  old  Sabre 
talking  away  like  a  soda-water  bottle  just  uncorked,  and 
he  took  me  into  a  room  on  the  ground  floor  where  they  'd 
put  up  a  bed  for  him,  him  not  being  able  to  do  the  stairs, 
of  course.  '  This  is  my  —  my  den/  he  introduced  it, 
1  where  I  sit  about  and  read  and  try  to  do  a  bit  of  work/ 

"  There  did  n't  look  to  be  much  signs  of  either  that  I 
could  see,  and  I  said  so.  And  old  Sabre,  who  'd  been 
hobbling  about  the  room  in  a  rather  uncomfortable  sort 
of  way,  exclaimed  suddenly,  '  I  say,  Hapgood,  it 's  abso 
lutely  ripping  having  you  here  talking  like  this.  I  never 
can  settle  down  properly  in  this  room,  and  I  Ve  got  a 
jolly  place  upstairs  where  all  my  books  and  things  are/ 

"  '  Let 's  go  up  then/  I  said. 

"  '  I  can't  get  up.' 

"  '  Well,  man  alive,  I  can  get  you  up.    Come  on.    Let 's 

go.' 

"  He  seemed  to  hesitate  for  some  reason  I  could  n't 
understand.  '  It 's  got  to  be  in  a  chair/  he  said.  '  It 's  a 
business.  I  wonder  —  '  That  kind  of  thing,  as  though 
it  was  something  he  ought  n't  to  do.  '  But  it  would  be 
fine/  he  said.  '  I  've  not  been  up  for  days.  I  could  show 
you  some  of  my  history  I  'm  going  to  take  up  again  one 


IF  WINTER  COMES  323 

of  these  days  —  one  of  these  days/  said  he,  with  his  nut 
rather  wrinkled  up.  And  then  suddenly,  '  Come  on,  let 's 
go!' 

"  At  the  door  he  called  out,  '  I  say,  you  Jinkses ! '  and 
two  servant  girls  came  tumbling  out  rather  as  if  they 
were  falling  out  of  a  trap  and  each  trying  to  fall  out  first. 
*  I  say,'  old  Sabre  says,  '  Mistress  not  back  yet,  is  she?  ' 
and  when  they  told  him  No,  '  Well,  d'  you  think  you  'd 
like  to  get  me  upstairs  on  that  infernal  chair  ?  '  he  says. 

"  '  Oh,  we  will,  sir/  and  they  got  out  one  of  those  in 
valid  chairs  and  started  to  lift  him  up.  Course  I  wanted 
to  take  one  end,  but  they  would  n't  hear  of  it.  *  If  you 
please,  we  like  carrying  the  master,  sir/  and  all  that  kind 
of  thing;  and  they  fussed  him  in  and  fiddled  with  his  legs, 
snapping  at  one  another  for  being  rough  as  if  they  were 
the  two  women  taking  their  disputed  baby  up  to  old 
Solomon. 

"  They  'd  scarcely  got  on  to  the  stairs  when  the  front 
door  opened  and  in  walks  his  wife.  My  word,  1  thought 
they  were  going  to  drop  him.  She  says  in  a  voice  as  though 
she  was  biting  a  chip  off  an  ice  block,  '  Mark,  is  it  really 
necessary  — '  Then  she  saw  me  and  took  her  teeth  out  of 
the  ice.  '  Oh,  it 's  Mr.  Hapgood,  is  n't  it  ?  How  very  nice ! 
Staying  to  lunch,  of  course?  Do  let's  come  into  the 
drawing-room/  Very  nice  and  affable.  I  always  rather 
liked  her.  And  we  went  along,  I  being  rather  captured 
and  doing  the  polite  in  my  well-known  matinee  idol  man 
ner,  you  understand ;  and  I  heard  old  Sabre  saying,  *  Well, 
let  me  out  of  the  damned  thing,  can't  you  ?  Help  me  out 
of  the  damn  thing ' ;  and  presently  hobbled  in  and  joined 
us,  and  soon  after  that  lunch,  exquisitely  cooked  and 
served  and  all  very  nice,  too. 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  old  man,  I  always  rather  liked  his 
wife.  I  —  always  —  rather  —  liked  —  her.  But  some 
how,  as  we  went  on  through  lunch,  and  then  on  afte" 


Well,  that  was  the  way  she  spoke  to  old  S; 
snipped  off  the  end  of  what  he  was  sayii 
hanging,  if  you  follow  me.    That  was  the  ' 
to  him  when  she  did  speak  to  him.    But  for 
they  hardly  spoke  to  one  another  at  all.     I 
or  I  talked  to  him,  but  the  conversation 
angular.     Whenever  it  threatened  to,  snij 
his  corner  off  and  leave  him  floating.     Te 
was,  old  man,  I  jolly  soon  saw  that  the  rea 
was  so  jolly  anxious  for  me  to  stay  to  lunc 
meals  without  dear  old  me  or  some  other 
tual  were  about  as  much  like  a  feast  of  rea< 
of  soul  as  a  vinegar  bottle  and  a  lukewan 
cold  plate.    Similarly  with  the  exuberance 
of  me.     I  hate  to  confess  it,  but  it  wai 
splendid  old  me  he  had  been  so  delighted 
old  body  to  whom  he  could  unloose  his  t( 
having  the  end  of  his  nose  snipped  off. 

"  Mind  you,  I  don't  mean  that  he  w; 
afraid  to  open  his  mouth  in  his  wife's  prese 
a  bit  like  that.  What  I  got  out  of  it  was  that  he  was 
starved,  intellectually  starved,  mentally  starved,  starved 
of  the  good  old  milk  of  human  kindness  —  that  *s  what 
I  mean.  Everything  he  put  up  she  threw  down,  not  be 
cause  she  wanted  to  snub  him,  but  because  she  either 
could  n't  or  would  n't  take  the  faintest  interest  in  any 
thing  that  interested  him.  Course,  she  may  have  had 
jolly  good  reason.  I  daresay  she  had.  Still,  there  it  was, 
and  it  seemed  rather  rotten  to  me.  I  didn't  like  it. 


IF    WINTER    COMES  325 

Damn  it,  the  chap  only  had  one  decent  leg  under  the 
table  and  an  uncommonly  tired-looking  face  above  it, 
and  I  felt  rather  sorry  for  him." 

Ill 

" After  lunch  I  said,  'Well,  now,  old  man,  what  about 
going  up  to  this  room  of  yours  and  having  a  look  at  this 
monumental  history  ?  '  Saw  him  shoot  a  glance  in  his 
wife's  direction,  and  he  said,  '  Oh,  no,  not  now,  Hapgood. 
Never  mind  now.'  And  his  wife  said,  '  Mark,  what  can 
there  be  for  Mr.  Hapgood  to  see  up  there  ?  It 's  too 
ridiculous.  I  'm  sure  he  does  n't  want  to  be  looking  at 
lesson  books/ 

"  I  said,  '  Oh,  but  I  'd  like  to.  In  fact,  I  insist.  None 
of  your  backing  out  at  the  last  minute,  Sabre.  I  know 
your  little  games.' 

"  Sort  of  carried  it  off  like  that,  d'  you  see;  knowing 
perfectly  well  the  old  chap  was  keen  on  going  up,  and 
seeing  perfectly  clearly  that  for  some  extraordinary  rea 
son  his  wife  stopped  him  going  up. 

"  By  Jove,  he  was  pleased,  I  could  see  he  was.  We  got 
in  the  maids  and  upped  him,  to  a  room  he  used  to  sleep 
in,  I  gathered,  and  up  there  he  hobbled  about,  taking  out 
this  book  and  dusting  up  that  book,  and  fiddling  over  his 
table,  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  for  all  the  world 
like  an  evicted  emigrant  restored  to  the  home  of  his 
fathers. 

"  He  said,  '  Forgive  me,  old  man,  just  a  few  minutes; 
you  know  I  have  n't  been  up  here  for  over  three  weeks/ 

"  I  said,  '  Why  the  devil  have  n't  you,  then?  ' 

'  Oh,  well,'  says  he.     '  Oh,  well,  it  makes  a  business 
in  the  house,  you  know,  heaving  me  up.' 

"  Well,  that  did  n't  cut  any  ice,  you  know,  seeing  that 
I  'd  seen  the  servants  rush  to  the  job  as  if  they  were  going 
to  a  school  treat.  It  was  perfectly  clear  to  me  that  the 


326  IF   WINTER    COMES 

reason  he  was  kept  out  of  the  room  was  because  his  wife 
did  n't  want  him  being  lugged  up  there ;  and  for  all  I 
knew  never  had  liked  him  being  there  and  now  was  able  to 
stop  it. 

"  However,  his  wife  was  his  funeral,  not  mine,  and  I 
said  nothing  and  presently  he  settled  himself  down  and 
we  began,  talking.  At  least  he  did.  He  's  got  some  ideas, 
old  Sabre  has.  He  did  n't  talk  about  the  war.  He 
talked  a  lot  about  the  effect  of  the  war,  on  people  and  on 
institutions,  and  that  sort  of  guff.  Devilish  deep,  devil 
ishly  interesting.  I  won't  push  it  on  to  you.  You  're  one 
of  those  soulless,  earth-clogged  natures. 

"  Tell  you  one  thing,  though,  just  to  give  you  an  idea 
of  the  way  he  's  been  developing  all  these  years.  He 
talked  about  how  sickened  he  was  with  all  this  stuff  in  the 
papers  and  in  the  pulpits  about  how  the  nation,  in  this 
war,  is  passing  through  the  purging  fires  of  salvation 
and  is  going  to  emerge  with  higher,  nobler,  purer  ideals, 
and  all  that.  He  said  not  so.  He  quoted  a  thing  at  me 
out  of  one  of  his  books.  Something  about  (as  well  as 
I  can  remember  it)  something  about  how  '  Those  waves 
of  enthusiasm  on  whose  crumbling  crests  we  sometimes 
see  nations  lifted  for  a  gleaming  moment  are  wont  to 
have  a  gloomy  trough  before  and  behind.'  And  he  said : 

"  '  That 's  what  it  is  with  us,  Hapgood.  We  've  been 
high  on  those  crests  in  this  war  and  already  they  're 
crumbling.  When  the  peace  comes,  you  look  out  for  the 
glide  down  into  the  trough.  They  talk  about  the  nation, 
under  this  calamity,  turning  back  to  the  old  faiths,  to  the 
old  simple  beliefs,  to  the  old  earnest  ways,  to  the  old  God 
of  their  fathers.  Man,'  he  said,  '  what  can  you  see  al 
ready  ?  Temples  everywhere  to  a  new  God  —  Greed  — 
Profit  —  Extortion.  All  out  for  it.  All  out  for  it,'  I 
remember  him  saying,  *  all  out  to  get  the  most  and  do  the 
least/ 


IF   WINTER    COMES  327 

"  He  got  up  and  hobbled  about,  excited,  flushed,  and 
talked  like  a  man  who  uses  his  headpiece  for  thinking. 
'  Where  's  that  making  to,  Hapgood  ?  '  he  asked.  '  I  '11 
tell  you,'  he  said.  '  You  '11  get  the  people  finding  there  's 
a  limit  to  the  high  prices  they  can  demand  for  their  la 
bour  :  apparently  none  to  those  the  employers  can  go  on 
piling  up  for  their  profits.  You  '11  get  growing  hatred 
by  the  middle  classes  with  fixed  incomes  of  the  labouring 
classes  whose  prices  for  their  labour  they  '11  see  —  and 
feel  —  going  up  and  up ;  and  you  '11  get  the  same  growing 
hatred  by  the  labouring  classes  for  the  capitalists.  We  've 
been  nearly  four  years  on  the  crest,  Hapgood,  —  on  the 
crest  of  the  war  —  and  it 's  been  all  classes  as  one  class 
for  the  common  good.  I  tell  you,  Hapgood,  the  trough  's 
ahead;  we  're  steering  for  it;  and  it 's  rapid  and  perilous 
sundering  of  the  classes. 

"  '  The  new  God,'  old  Sabre  said.  '  High  prices,  high 
prices :  the  highest  that  can  be  squeezed.  Temples  to  it 
everywhere.  Ay,  and  sacrifices,  Hapgood.  Immola 
tions.  Offering  up  of  victims.  No  thought  of  those  who 
cannot  pay  the  prices.  Pay  the  prices,  or  get  them,  or 
go  under.  That 's  the  new  God's  creed.' 

"  I  said  to  him,  '  What 's  the  remedy,  Sabre  ?  ' 

"  He  said  to  me,  '  Hapgood,  the  remedy  's  the  old  rem 
edy.  The  old  God.  But  it 's  more  than  that.  It 's  Light : 
more  light.  The  old  revelation  was  good  for  the  old 
world,  and  suited  to  the  old  world,  and  told  in  terms  of 
the  old  world's  understanding.  Mystical  for  ages  steeped 
in  the  mystical;  poetic  for  minds  receptive  of  nothing 
beyond  story  and  allegory  and  parable.  We  want  a  new 
revelation  in  terms  of  the  new  world's  understanding. 
We  want  light,  light !  Do  you  suppose  a  man  who  lives 
on  meat  is  going  to  find  sustenance  in  bread  and  milk? 
Do  you  suppose  an  age  that  knows  wireless  and  can  fly  is 
going  to  find  spiritual  sustenance  in  the  food  of  an  age  that 


328  IF    WINTER    COMES 

thought  thunder  was  God  speaking?  Man  's  done  with  it. 
It  means  nothing  to  him;  it  gives  nothing  to  him.  He 
turns  all  that 's  in  him  to  get  all  he  wants  out  of  this 
world  and  let  the  next  go  rip.  Man  cannot  live  by  bread 
alone,  the  churches  tell  him;  but  he  says,  "  I  am  living  on 
bread  alone,  and  doing  well  on  it."  But  I  tell  you,  Hap- 
good,  that  plumb  down  in  the  crypt  and  abyss  of  every 
man's  soul  is  a  hunger,  a  craving  for  other  food  than 
this  earthy  stuff.  And  the  churches  know  it ;  and  instead 
of  reaching  down  to  him  what  he  wants  —  light,  light  — 
instead  of  that,  they  invite  him  to  dancing  and  picture 
shows,  and  you  're  a  jolly  good  fellow,  and  religion  's  a 
jolly  fine  thing  and  no  spoilsport,  and  all  that  sort  of 
latter-day  tendency.  Damn  it,  he  can  get  all  that  outside 
the  churches  and  get  it  better.  Light,  light!  He  wants 
light,  Hapgood.  And  the  padres  come  down  and  drink 
beer  with  him,  and  watch  boxing  matches  with  him,  and 
sing  music-hall  songs  with  him,  and  dance  Jazz  with  him, 
and  call  it  making  religion  a  Living  Thing  in  the  Lives  of 
the  People.  Lift  the  hearts  of  the  people  to  God,  they 
say,  by  showing  them  that  religion  is  not  incompatible 
with  having  a  jolly  fine  time.  And  there  's  no  God  there 
that  a  man  can  understand  for  him  to  be  lifted  up  to. 
Hapgood,  a  man  would  n't  care  what  he  had  to  give  up 
if  he  knew  he  was  making  for  something  inestimably 
precious.  But  he  does  n't  know.  Light,  light  —  that 's 
what  he  wants ;  and  the  longer  it 's  withheld  the  lower 
he'll  sink.  Light!  Light!' 

IV 

"  Well,  I  make  no  extra  charge  for  that  (said  Hapgood, 
and  helped  himself  to  a  drink).  That 's  not  me.  That's 
Sabre.  And  if  you  'd  seen  him  as  I  saw  him,  and  if  you  'd 
heard  him  as  I  heard  him,  you  'd  have  been  as  impressed 


IF    WINTER    COMES  329 

as  I  was  impressed  instead  of  lolling  there  like  a  surfeited 
python.  I  tell  you,  old  Sabre  was  all  pink  under  his  skin, 
and  his  eyes  shining,  and  his  voice  tingling.  I  tell 
you,  if  you  were  a  real  painter  instead  of  a  base  flatterer 
of  bloated  and  wealthy  sitters,  and  if  you  'd  seen  him 
then,  you  'd  have  painted  the  masterpiece  of  your  age 
and  called  it  The  Visionary.  I  tell  you,  old  Sabre  was 
fine.  He  said  he  'd  been  thinking  all  round  that  sort  of 
stuff  for  years,  and  that  now,  for  one  reason  and  another, 
it  was  beginning  to  crystallize  in  him  and  take  form  and 
substance. 

"I  asked  him,  'What  reasons,  Sabre?'  and  he  said, 
'  Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  war ;  and  being  out  there ;  and 
thinking  about  the  death  of  an  old  woman  I  attended 
once;  and  things  I  picked  up  from  a  slip  of  a  girl;  and 
things  from  a  woman  I  know  —  oh,  all  sorts  of  things, 
Hapgood ;  and  I  tell  you  what  chiefly  —  loneliness,  my 
God,  loneliness.  .  .  . ' 

"  I  did  n't  say  anything.  What  could  I  say  ?  When  a 
chap  suddenly  rips  a  cry  out  of  his  heart  like  that,  what 
the  devil  can  you  say  if  you  weigh  fourteen  stone  of 
solid  contentment  and  look  it?  You  can  only  feel  you 
were  n't  meant  to  hear  and  try  to  look  as  if  you  had  n't. 

"  Well,  anyway,  time  came  for  me  to  go  and  I  went. 
Sabre  stayed  where  he  was.  Would  I  mind  leaving  him 
up  there  ?  It  was  so  seldom  he  got  up ;  and  talking  with 
me  had  brought  back  old  feelings  he  thought  he  'd  never 
recapture  again,  and  he  was  going  to  see  if  he  could  n't 
start  in  and  do  a  bit  of  writing  again.  So  I  pulled  out 
and  left  him;  and  that  was  old  Sabre  as  I  saw  him  two 
months  ago ;  and  one  way  and  another  I  thought  a  good 
deal  coming  back  in  the  train  of  what  I  had  seen.  Those 
sort  of  ideas  in  his  head  and  that  sort  of  life  with  his  wife. 
D'  you  remember  my  telling  you  years  —  oh,  years  ago 
—  that  he  looked  like  a  chap  who  'd  lost  something  and 


330  IF    WINTER    COMES 

was  wondering  where  he  'd  put  it  ?  Well,  the  Sabre  I 
left  down  there  two  months  ago  had  not  only  lost  it,  but 
knew 'it  was  gone  for  good  and  all.  That  was  Sabre 
-  except  when  the  pink  got  under  his  skin  when  he  got 
talking. 

"  All  right.  All  right.  Now  that 's  just  the  prologue. 
That's  just  what  you're  supposed  to  know  before  the 
curtain  goes  up.  Now,  am  I  going  on  to  the  drama  or 
are  we  going  to  bed.  .  .  .  The  drama  ?  Right.  You  're 
a  lewd  fellow  of  the  baser  sort,  but  you  occasionally  have 
wise  instincts.  Right.  The  drama." 


CHAPTER   II 

I 

CONTINUED  Hapgood: 

"  All  right.  That  was  two  months  ago.  Last  week  I 
was  down  at  Tidborough  again.  Felt  I  'd  got  rather 
friendly  with  old  Sabre  on  my  last  visit  so  as  soon  as  I 
could  toddled  off  to  the  office  to  look  him  up.  Felt  quite 
sure  he  'd  be  back  there  again  by  now.  But  he  was  n't. 
He  was  n't,  and  when  I  began  inquiring  for  him  found 
there  seemed  to  be  some  rummy  mystery  about  his  ab 
sence.  Like  this.  Some  sort  of  a  clerk  was  in  the  shop 
as  I  went  in.  '  Mr.  Sabre  upstairs,  eh  ? '  I  asked.  ( No. 
No,  Mr.  Sabre  's  not  —  not  here,'  says  my  gentleman, 
with  rather  an  odd  look  at  me. 

"  '  What,  not  still  laid  up,  is  he?  ' 

"  The  chap  gave  me  a  decidedly  odd  look.  '  Mr.  Sa 
bre  's  not  attending  the  office  at  present,  sir.' 

"  '  Not  attending  the  office?    Not  ill,  is  he?  ' 

"  '  No,  not  ill,  I  think,  sir.  Not  attending  the  office. 
Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  see  one  of  the  partners?  ' 

"  I  looked  at  him.  He  looked  at  me.  What  the  devil 
did  he  mean?  Just  then  I  caught  sight  of  an  old  bird  I 
knew  slightly  coming  down  the  stairs  with  a  book  under 
his  arm.  Old  chap  called  Bright.  Sort  of  foreman  or 
something.  Looked  rather  like  Moses  coming  down  the 
mountain  with  the  Tables  of  Stone  in  his  fist.  I  said  in 
my  cheery  way,  '  Hullo,  Mr.  Bright.  Good  morning.  I 
was  just  inquiring  for  Mr,  Sabre.' 


332  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  By  Jove,  I  thought  for  a  minute  the  old  patriarch 
was  going  to  heave  the  tables  of  stone  at  my  head.  He 
caught  up  the  book  in  both  his  hands  and  gave  a  sort  of 
choke  and  blazed  at  me  out  of  his  eyes  —  by  gad,  I 
might  have  been  poor  old  Aaron  caught  jazzing  round 
the  golden  calf. 

'  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  this  is  no  place  to  inquire  after 
Mr.  Sabre,'  said  he.     *  Let  me  tell  you  — ' 

"  Well,  I  'd  ha'  let  him  tell  me  any  old  thing.  That 
was  what  I  was  there  for.  But  he  shut  himself  up  with  a 
kind  of  gasp  and  cannoned  himself  into  his  tabernacle 
under  the  stairs  and  left  me  there,  wondering  if  I  was 
where  I  thought  I  was,  or  had  got  into  a  moving-picture 
show  by  mistake.  The  clerk  had  fallen  through  the  floor 
or  something.  I  was  alone.  Friendless.  Nobody  wanted 
me.  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Percival,  old  man,  you  're  on 
the  unpopular  side  of  the  argument.  You  're  nonsuited, 
old  man.'  And  I  thought  I  wouldn't  take  any  more 
chances  in  this  Biblical  film,  not  with  old  father  Abraham 
Fortune  or  Friend  Judas  Iscariot  Twyning;  I  thought 
I  'd  push  out  to  Penny  Green  and  see  old  Sabre  for 
myself. 

"  So  I  did.     I  certainly  did.  .  .  . 

'  You  can  imagine  me,  old  man,  in  my  natty  little  blue 
suit,  tripping  up  the  path  of  Sabre's  house  and  guessing 
to  myself  that  the  mystery  was  n't  a  mystery  at  all,  but 
only  the  office  perhaps  rather  fed  up  with  Sabre  for  stay 
ing  away  nursing  his  game  leg  so  long.  By  Jove,  it 
was  n't  that.  House  had  rather  a  neglected  appearance, 
I  thought.  Door  knob  not  polished,  or  blinds  still  down 
somewhere  or  something.  I  don't  know.  Something. 
And  what  made  me  conscious  of  it  was  that  I  was  kept  a 
long  time  waiting  after  I  'd  rung  the  bell.  In  fact,  I  had 
to  ring  twice.  Then  I  heard  some  one  coming,  and  you 
know  how  your  mind  unconsciously  expects  things  and 


IF   WINTER   COMES  333 

so  gives  you  quite  a  start  when  the  thing  is  n't  there ; 
well,  I  suppose  I  'd  been  expecting  to  see  one  of  Sabre's 
two  servants,  '  my  couple  of  Jinkses  '  as  he  calls  them, 
and  'pon  my  soul  I  was  quite  startled  when  the  door 
opened  and  it  was  n't  one  of  them  at  all,  but  a  very  differ 
ent  pair  of  shoes. 

"  It  was  a  young  woman;  ladylike,  dressed  just  in  some 
ordinary  sort  of  clothes;  I  don't  know;  uncommonly 
pretty,  or  might  have  been  if  she  had  n't  looked  so  un 
commonly  sad ;  and  —  this  was  what  knocked  me  — 
carrying  a  baby.  'Pon  my  soul,  I  could  n't  have  been 
more  astonished  if  the  door  had  been  opened  by  the  Kai 
ser  carrying  the  Crown  Prince. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  imagined  she  was 
the  kid's  mother,  but  I  did.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
have  looked  at  her  hands,  but  I  did.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  have  expected  to  see  a  wedding  ring,  but  I  did. 
And  there  was  n't  one. 

"  Well,  she  was  saying  '  Yes  ?  '  in  an  inquiring,  timid 
sort  of  way,  me  standing  there  like  a  fool,  you  under 
stand,  and  I  suddenly  recovered  from  my  flabbergastera- 
tion  and  guessed  the  obvious  thing  —  that  the  Sabres  had 
let  their  house  to  strangers  and  gone  away.  Still  more 
obvious,  you  might  say,  that  Mrs.  Sabre  had  produced 
a  baby,  and  that  the  girl  was  her  sister  or  some  one,  but 
that  never  occurred  to  me.  No,  I  guessed  they  'd  gone 
away,  and  I  said,  '  I  was  calling  to  see  Mr.  Sabre.  Has 
he  gone  away  ?  ' 

"  I  'd  thought  her  looking  timid.  She  was  looking  at 
me  now  decidedly  as  if  she  were  frightened  of  me.  '  No, 
no,  Mr.  Sabre  's  not  gone  away.  He  's  here.  Are  you  a 
friend  of  his  ?  ' 

"  I  smiled  at  her.  '  Well,  I  used  to  be/  I  said.  She 
did  n't  smile.  What  the  dickens  was  up  ?  'I  used  to  be. 
I  always  thought  I  was.  My  name  's  Hapgood.' 


334  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  '  Perhaps  you  'd  better  come  in.' 

'  You  know,  it  was  perfectly  extraordinary.  Her 
voice  was  as  sad  as  her  face.  I  stepped  in.  What  on 
earth  was  I  going  to  hear?  Sabre  dying?  Wife  dying? 
Air-raid  bomb  fallen  on  the  house  and  everybody  dead? 
'Pon  my  soul,  I  began  to  feel  creepy.  Scalp  began  to 
prick.  Then  suddenly  there  was  old  Sabre  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs.  'What  is  it,  Effie?'  Then  he  saw  me. 
'  Hullo,  Hapgood ! '  His  voice  was  devilish  pleased. 
Then  he  said  again,  rather  in  a  thoughtful  voice,  '  Hullo, 
Hapgood,'  and  he  began  to  come  down,  slowly,  with  his 
stick. 

"Well,  he  wasn't  dead,  anyway;  that  was  something 
to  go  on  with.  I  took  his  hand  and  said,  '  Hullo,  Sabre. 
How  goes  it,  old  man?  Able  to  do  the  stairs  now,  I  see. 
I  was  down  to  Tidborough  and  thought  I  'd  come  and 
look  you  up  again.' 

"  '  Fine,'  he  said,  shaking  my  hand.  '  Jolly  nice  of 
you.'  Then  he  said,  '  Did  you  go  to  the  office  for  me, 
Hapgood  ?  ' 

"  '  Just  looked  in,'  I  said  offhandedly.  '  Saw  a  clerk 
who  said  you  were  n't  down  to-day,  so  I  came  along  up/ 

"  He  was  doing  some  thinking,  I  could  see  that.  He 
said,  '  Jolly  good  of  you.  I  am  glad.  You  '11  stay  a  bit, 
of  course.'  The  girl  had  faded  away.  He  went  a  bit 
along  the  passage  and  called  out,  '  Effie,  you  can  scratch 
up  a  bit  of  lunch  for  Mr.  Hapgood?  ' 

"  I  suppose  she  said  Yes.  '  Lunch  '11  be  on  in  about 
two  minutes,'  he  came  back  to  me  with.  '  You  're  later 
than  when  you  came  up  last  time.  Come  along  in  here/ 

"  Led  me  into  the  morning  room  and  we  sat  down  and 
pretended  to  talk.  Very  poor  pretence,  I  give  you  my 
word.  Both  of  us  manifestly  straining  to  do  the  brisk 
and  hearty,  and  the  two  of  us  producing  about  as  much 
semblance  of  chatty  interchange  as  a  couple  of  victims 


IF   WINTER    COMES  335 

waiting  their  turn  in  a  dentist's  parlour.  The  door 
was  open  and  I  could  hear  some  one  moving  about  lay 
ing  the  lunch.  That  was  all  I  could  hear  (bar  Sabre's 
spasmodic  jerks  of  speech)  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
I  was  a  deal  more  interested  in  what  I  could  hear  going 
on  outside  than  in  anything  we  could  put  up  between  us. 
Or  rather  in  what  I  could  n't  hear  going  on  outside.  No 
voices,  none  of  those  sounds,  none  of  that  sort  of  feeling 
that  tells  you  people  are  about  the  place.  No,  there  was 
some  mystery  knocking  about  the  place  somewhere,  and 
it  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  and  that  was  where 
my  attention  was. 

"  Presently  I  heard  the  girl's  voice  outside,  '  Lunch  is 
ready.' 

"  We  jumped  up  like  two  schoolboys  released  from  de 
tention  and  went  along  in.  More  mystery.  Lunch  at 
Sabre's  place  was  always  a  beautifully  conducted  rite,  as 
I  was  accustomed  to  it.  Announced  by  two  gongs,  warn 
ing  and  ready,  to  begin  with,  and  here  we  'd  been  shuf 
fled  in  by  a  girl's  casual  remark  in  the  passage;  and 
beautifully  appointed  and  served  when  you  got  there  and 
here  was —  Well,  there  were  places  laid  for  two  only 
and  a  ramshackle  kind  of  cold  picnic  scattered  about  the 
cloth.  Everything  there,  help  yourself  kind  of  show. 
Bit  of  cold  meat,  half  a  cold  tart,  lump  of  cheese,  loaf  of 
bread,  assortment  of  plates,  and  so  on. 

"  Sabre  said,  '  Oh,  by  the  way,  my  wife  's  not  here. 
She  's  away/ 

"  I  murmured  the  polite  thing.  He  was  staring  at  the 
two  places,  frowning  a  bit  '  Half  a  minute,'  he  said 
and  hopped  off  on  his  old  stick.  Then  I  heard  him  talk 
ing  to  this  mysterious  girl.  At  least  I  heard  her  voice 
first.  'Oh,  I  can't!  I  can't!' 

"  Then  Sabre :  '  Nonsense,  Effie.  You  must.  You 
must.  I  insist.  Don't  be  silly/ 


336  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  Then  a  door  slammed. 

"Well,  I  ask  you!  If  I  didn't  say  to  myself,  '  The 
plot  thickens,'  if  I  did  n't  say  it,  I  can  promise  you  I 
thought  it.  I  did.  And  it  proceeded  to  curdle.  The 
door  that  had  slammed  opened  and  presently  in  comes 
Sabre  with  the  girl.  And  the  girl  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms.  Sabre  said  in  his  ordinary,  easy  voice  —  he  's  got 
a  particularly  nice  voice,  has  old  Sabre  —  '  This  is  a  very 
retiring  young  person,  Hapgood.  Had  to  be  dragged  in. 
Miss  Bright.  Her  father  's  in  the  office.  Perhaps  you  've 
met  him,  have  you  ?  ' 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  I  said,  old  man.  I  know 
what  I  thought.  I  thought  just  precisely  what  you  're 
thinking.  Yes,  I  had  a  furiously  vivid  shot  of  a  recol 
lection  of  old  Bright  as  I  'd  seen  him  a  couple  of  hours 
before,  of  his  blazing  look,  of  his  gesture  of  wanting  to 
hurl  the  Tables  of  Stone  at  me,  and  of  his  extraordinary 
remark  about  Sabre,  —  I  had  that  and  I  did  what  you  're 
doing :  I  put  two  and  two  together  and  found  the  obvious 
answer  (same  as  you)  and  I  jolly  near  fell  down  dead, 
I  did.  Jolly  near. 

"  But  Sabre  was  going  on,  pleasant  and  natural  as  you 
please.  l  Miss  Bright  was  here  as  companion  to  my  wife 
while  I  was  in  France.  Now  she  's  staying  here  a  bit 
Put  the  baby  on  the  sofa,  Effie,  and  let 's  get  to  work. 
I  'd  like  you  two  to  be  friends.  Hapgood  and  I  were  at 
school  together,  you  know,  about  a  thousand  years  ago. 
They  used  to  call  him  Porker  because  he  was  so  thin.' 

"  The  girl  smiled  faintly,  I  put  up  an  hysterical  sort  of 
squeak,  and  we  sat  down.  The  meal  was  n't  precisely  a 
banquet.  We  helped  ourselves  and  stacked  up  the  soiled 
plates  as  we  used  them.  No  servants,  d'  you  see  ?  That 
was  pretty  clear  by  now.  No  wife,  no  servants,  no  wed 
ding  ring;  nothing  but  old  Bright's  daughter  and  old 
Bright's  daughter's  baby  —  and  —  and  —  Sabre. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  337 

"  I  suppose  I  talked.  I  heard  my  voice  sometimes. 
The  easy  flow  Sabre  had  started  with  didn't  last  long. 
The  girl  hardly  spoke.  I  watched  her  a  lot.  I  liked  the 
look  of  her.  She  must  have  been  uncommonly  pretty  in 
a  vivacious  sort  of  way  before  she  ran  up  against  her 
trouble,  whatever  it  was.  I  say  Whatever  it  was.  I  'd 
no  real  reason  to  suppose  I  knew;  though  mind  you,  I 
was  guessing  pretty  shrewdly  it  was  lying  there  on  the 
sofa  wrapped  up  in  what  d'  you  call  'ems  —  swarldling 
clothes.  Yes,  uncommonly  pretty,  but  now  sad  —  T$ad  as 
a  young  widow  at  the  funeral,  that  sort  of  look.  It  was 
her  eyes  that  especially  showed  it.  Extraordinary  eyes. 
Like  two  great  pools  in  a  shadow.  If  I  may  quote  poetry 
at  you, 

Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 
Of  waters  stilled  at  even. 

And  all  the  sorrow  in  them  of  all  the  women  since  Mary 
Magdalen.  All  the  time  but  once.  Once  the  baby  whim 
pered,  and  she  got  up  and  went  to  it  and  stooped  over  it 
the  other  side  of  the  sofa  from  me,  so  I  could  see  her 
face.  By  gad,  if  you  could  have  seen  her  eyes  thenl 
Motherhood!  Lucky  you  weren't  there,  because  if 
you  've  any  idea  of  ever  painting  a  picture  called  Mother 
hood,  you  'd  ha'  gone  straight  out  and  cut  your  throat  on 
the  mat  in  despair.  You  certainly  would. 

"  Well,  anyway,  the  banquet  got  more  and  more  awk 
ward  to  endure  as  it  dragged  on,  and  mighty  glad  I  was 
when  at  last  the  girl  got  up  —  without  a  word  —  and 
picked  up  the  baby  and  left  us.  Left  us.  We  were  no  more 
chatty  for  being  alone,  I  can  promise  you.  I  absolutely 
could  not  think  of  a  word  to  say,  and  any  infernal 
thing  that  old  Sabre  managed  to  rake  up  seemed  complete 
and  done  to  death  the  minute  he  'd  said  it. 

"  Then  all  of  a  sudden  he  began.     He  fished  out  some 


338  IF   WINTER    COMES 

cigarettes  and  chucked  me  one  and  we  smoked  like  a 
couple  of  exhaust  valves  for  about  two  minutes  and  then 
he  said,  '  Hapgood,  why  on  earth  should  I  have  to  explain 
all  this  to  you  ?  Why  should  I  ?  ' 

"  I  said,  a  tiny  bit  sharply  —  I  was  getting  a  bit  on 
edge,  you  know  —  I  said,  '  Well,  who  's  asked  you  to  ? 
I  have  n't  asked  any  questions,  have  I  ?  ' 

"  Sabre  said,  *  No,  I  know  you  have  n't  asked  any,  and 
I  'm  infernally  grateful  to  you.  You  're  the  first  person 
across  this  threshold  in  months  that  has  n't.  But  I  know 
you  're  thinking  them  —  hard.  And  I  know  I  've  got  to 
answer  them.  And  I  want  to.  I  want  to  most  frightfully. 
But  what  beats  me  is  this  infernal  feeling  that  I  must  ex 
plain  to  you,  to  you  and  to  everybody,  whether  I  want  to 
or  not.  Why  should  I  ?  It 's  my  own  house.  I  can  do  what 
I  like  in  it.  I  'm  not,  anyway,  doing  anything  wrong. 
I  'm  doing  something  more  right  than  I  've  ever  done  in 
my  life,  and  yet  everybody  's  got  the  right  to  question  me 
and  everybody  's  got  the  right  to  be  answered  and  — 
Hapgood,  it 's  the  most  bewildering  state  of  affairs  that 
can  possibly  be  imagined.  I  'm  up  against  a  code  of 
social  conventions,  and  by  Jove  I  'm  absolutely  down  and 
out.  I  'm  absolutely  tied  up  hand  and  foot  and  chucked 
away.  Do  you  know  what  I  am,  Hapgood  —  ?  ' 

"  He  gave  a  laugh.  He  was  n't  talking  a  bit  savagely, 
and  he  never  did  talk  like  that  all  through  what  he  told 
me.  He  was  just  talking  in  a  tone  of  sheer,  hopeless, 
extremely  interested  puzzlement  —  bafflement  —  amaze 
ment;  just  as  a  man  might  talk  to  you  of  some  absolutely 
baffling  conjuring  trick  he  'd  seen.  In  fact,  he  used  that 
very  expression.  '  Do  you  know  what  I  am,  Hapgood  ?  ' 
and  he  gave  a  laugh,  as  I  've  said.  '  I  'm  what  they  call  a 
social  outcast.  A  social  outcast.  Beyond  the  pale.  Un 
speakable.  Ostracized.  Blackballed.  Excommunicated/ 
He  got  up  and:  began  to  stump  about  the  room,  hands  in 


IF    WINTER    COMES  339 

his  pockets,  chin  on  his  collar,  wrestling  with  it,  —  and 
wrestling,  mind  you,  just  in  profoundly  interested  baf 
flement. 

"  '  Unspeakable/  he  said.  '  Excommunicated.  By 
Jove,  it 's  astounding.  It 's  amazing.  It 's  like  a  stupen 
dous  conjuring  trick.  I  Ve  done  something  that  is  n't 
done  —  not  something  that 's  wrong,  something  that 's 
incontestably  right.  But  it  is  n't  done.  People  don't  do 
it,  and  I  Ve  done  it  and  therefore  hey,  presto,  I  'm  turned 
into  a  leper,  a  pariah,  an  outlaw.  Amazing,  astounding ! ' 

"  Then  he  settled  down  and  told  me.  And  this  is  what 
he  told  me." 

II 

"  When  he  was  out  in  France  this  girl  I  'd  seen  —  this 
Effie,  as  he  called  her,  Effie  Bright  —  had  come  to  live  as 
companion  to  his  wife.  It  appears  he  more  or  less  got  her 
the  job.  He  'd  seen  her  at  the  office  with  her  father  and 
he  'd  taken  a  tremendous  fancy  to  her.  '  A  jolly  kid/ 
that  was  the  expression  he  used,  and  he  said  he  was 
awfully  fond  of  her  just  as  he  might  be  of  a  jolly  little 
sister.  He  got  her  some  other  job  previously  with  some 
friends  or  other,  and  then  the  old  lady  there  died  and  the 
girl  came  to  his  place  while  he  was  away.  Something  like 
that.  Anyway,  she  came.  She  came  somewhere  about 
October,  '15,  and  she  left  early  in  March  following,  just 
over  a  year  ago.  His  wife  got  fed  up  with  her  and  got  rid 
of  her  —  that 's  what  Sabre  says  —  got  fed  up  with  her 
and  got  rid  of  her.  And  Sabre  was  at  home  at  the  time. 
Mark  that,  old  man,  because  it 's  important.  Sabre  was 
at  home  at  the  time  —  about  three  weeks  —  on  leave. 

"  Very  well.  The  girl  got  the  sack  and  he  went  back 
to  France.  She  got  another  job  somewhere  as  companion 
again.  He  does  n't  quite  know  where.  He  thinks  at 
Bournemouth.  Anyway,  that 's  nothing  to  do  with  it 


340  IF    WINTER   COMES 

Well,  he  got  wounded  and  discharged  from  the  Army,  as 
you  know,  and  in  February  he  was  living  at  home  again 
with  his  wife  in  the  conditions  I  described  to  you  when  I 
began.  He  said  nothing  to  me  about  the  conditions  — 
about  the  terms  they  were  on;  but  I  've  told  you  what  I 
saw.  It 's  important  because  it  was  exactly  into  the  situa 
tion  as  I  then  saw  it  that  came  to  pass  the  thing  that 
came  to  pass.  This : 

'  The  very  week  after  I  'd  been  down  there,  his  wife, 
reading  a  letter  at  breakfast  one  morning,  gave  a  kind  of 
a  snort  (as  I  can  imagine  it)  and  chucked  the  letter  over  to 
him  and  said,  *  Ha !  There  's  your  wonderful  Miss  Bright 
for  you!  What  did  I  tell  you?  What  do  you  think  of 
that?  Ha!' 

1  Those  were  her  very  words  and  her  very  snorts  and 
what  they  meant  —  what  *  Your  wonderful  Miss  Bright 
for  you  '  meant  —  was,  as  he  explained  to  me,  that  when 
he  was  home  on  leave,  with  the  girl  in  the  house,  they 
were  frequently  having  words  about  her,  because  he 
thought  his  wife  was  a  bit  sharp  with  her,  and  his  wife, 
for  her  part,  said  he  was  forever  sticking  up  for  her. 

"  '  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Ha ! '  and  she  chucked 
the  letter  over  to  him,  and  from  what  I  know  of  her  you 
can  imagine  her  sitting  bolt  upright,  bridling  with  vir 
tuous  prescience  confirmed,  watching  him,  while  he  read 
it. 

"  While  he  read  it.  ...  Sabre  said  the  letter  was  the 
most  frightfully  pathetic  document  he  could  ever  have 
imagined.  Smudged,  he  said,  and  stained  and  badly  ex 
pressed  as  if  the  writer  —  this  girl  —  this  Effie  Bright  — 
was  crying  and  incoherent  with  distress  when  she  wrote 
it.  And  she  no  doubt  was.  She  said  she  'd  got  into  ter 
rible  trouble.  She  'd  got  a  little  baby.  Sabre  said  it  was 
awful  to  him  the  way  she  kept  on  in  every  sentence  call 
ing  it  '  a  little  baby  '  —  never  a  child,  or  just  a  baby,  but 


IF   WINTER   COMES  341 

always  '  a  little  baby/  '  my  little  baby.'  He  said  it  was 
awful.  She  said  it  was  born  in  December  —  you  remem 
ber,  old  man,  it  was  the  previous  March  she  'd  got  the 
sack  from  them  —  and  that  she  'd  been  living  in  lodgings 
with  it,  and  that  now  she  was  well  enough  to  move,  and 
had  come  to  the  absolute  end  of  her  money,  she  was  being 
turned  out  and  was  at  her  wits'  end  with  despair  and 
nearly  out  of  her  mind  to  know  what  to  do  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing.  She  said  her  father  would  n't  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  her,  and  no  one  would  have  anything  to 
do  with  her  —  so  long  as  she  kept  her  little  baby.  That 
was  her  plight :  no  one  would  have  anything  to  do  with 
her  while  she  had  the  baby.  Her  father  was  willing  to 
take  her  home,  and  some  kind  people  had  offered  to  take 
her  into  service,  and  the  clergyman  where  she  was  had 
said  there  were  other  places  he  could  get  her,  but  only, 
all  of  them,  if  she  would  give  up  the  baby  and  put  it  out 
to  nurse  somewhere:  and  she  said,  and  underlined  it 
about  fourteen  times,  Sabre  said,  and  cried  over  it  so 
you  could  hardly  read  it,  she  said :  '  And,  oh,  Mrs.  Sabre, 
I  can't,  I  can't,  I  simply  can  not  give  up  my  little  baby. 
.  .  .  He  's  mine,'  she  said.  '  He  looks  at  me,  and  knows 
me,  and  stretches  out  his  tiny  little  hands  to  me,  and  I 
can't  give  him  up.  I  can't  let  my  little  baby  go.  What 
ever  I  've  done,  I  'm  his  mother  and  he  's  my  little  baby 
and  I  can't  let  him  go.' 

"  Sabre  said  it  was  awful.  I  can  believe  it  was.  I  'd 
seen  the  girl,  and  I  'd  seen  her  stooping  over  her  baby 
(like  I  told  you)  and  I  can  well  believe  awful  was  the 
word  for  it.  Poor  soul. 

"  And  then  she  said  —  I  can  remember  this  bit  —  then 
she  said,  '  And  so,  in  my  terrible  distress,  dear  Mrs.  Sabre, 
I  am  throwing  myself  on  your  mercy,  and  begging  you, 
imploring  you,  for  the  love  of  God  to  take  in  me  and  my 
little  baby  and  let  me  work  for  you  and  do  anything  for 


342  IF   WINTER    COMES 

you  and  bless  you  and  ask  God's  blessing  for  ever  upon 
you  and  teach  my  little  baby  to  pray  for  you  as  — ' 
something  or  other,  I  forget.  And  then  she  said  a  lot  of 
hysterical  things  about  working  her  fingers  to  the  bone 
for  Mrs.  Sabre,  and  knowing  she  was  a  wicked  girl  and 
not  fit  to  be  spoken  to  by  any  one,  and  was  willing  to 
sleep  in  a  shed  in  the  garden  and  never  to  open  her  mouth, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  and  all  the  way  through  '  my 
little  baby,'  '  my  little  baby.'  Sabre  said  it  was  awful. 
Also  she  said,  —  I  'm  telling  you  just  what  Sabre  told  me, 
and  he  told  me  this  bit  deliberately,  as  you  might  say  — 
also  she  said  that  she  did  n't  want  to  pretend  she  was  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  but  that  if  Mrs.  Sabre  knew 
the  truth  she  might  judge  her  less  harshly  and  be  more 
willing  to  help  her.  Yes,  Sabre  told  me  that.  .  .  . 

"  All  right.  Well,  there  was  the  appeal,  '  there  was 
this  piteous  appeal ',  as  Sabre  said,  and  there  was  Sabre 
profoundly  touched  by  it,  and  there  was  his  wife  bridling 
over  it  —  one  up  against  her  husband  who  'd  always 
stuck  up  for  the  girl,  d'  you  see,  and  about  two  million 
up  in  justification  of  her  own  opinion  of  her.  There 
they  were;  and  then  Sabre  said,  turning  the  letter  over 
in  his  hands,  '  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?' 

'  You  can  imagine  his  wife's  tone.  'Do  about  it! 
Do  about  it !  What  on  earth  do  you  think  I  'm  going  to 
do  about  it  ? ' 

"  And  Sabre  said,  '  Well,  I  think  we  ought  certainly 
to  take  the  poor  creature  in.' 

"  That 's  what  he  said ;  and  I  can  perfectly  imagine 
his  face  as  he  said  it  —  all  twisted  up  with  the  intensity 
of  the  struggle  he  foresaw  and  with  the  intensity  of  his 
feelings  on  the  subject;  and  I  can  perfectly  well  imagine 
his  wife's  face  as  she  heard  him,  by  Jove,  I  can.  She 
was  furious.  Absolutely  white  and  speechless  with  fury ; 


IF    WINTER    COMES  343 

but  not  speechless  long,  Sabre  said,  and  I  dare  bet  she 
was  n't.  Sabre  said  she  worked  herself  up  in  the  most 
awful  way  and  used  language  about  the  girl  that  cut 
him  like  a  knife  —  language  like  speaking  of  the  baby  as 
'  that  brat.'  It  made  him  wince.  It  would  —  the  sort  of 
chap  he  is.  And  he  said  that  the  more  she  railed,  the 
more  frightfully  he  realised  the  girl's  position,  up  against 
that  sort  of  thing  everywhere  she  turned. 

"  He  described  all  that  to  me  and  then,  so  to  speak,  he 
stated  his  case.  He  said  to  me,  his  face  all  twisted  up 
with  the  strain  of  trying  to  make  some  one  else  see  what 
was  so  perfectly  clear  to  himself,  he  said,  *  Well,  what 
I  say  to  you,  Hapgood,  is  just  precisely  what  I  said  to  my 
wife.  I  felt  that  the  girl  had  a  claim  on  us.  In  the  first 
place,  she  'd  turned  to  us  in  her  abject  misery  for  help 
and  that  alone  established  a  claim,  even  if  it  had  come 
from  an  utter  stranger.  It  established  a  claim  because 
here  was  a  human  creature  absolutely  down  and  out  come 
to  us,  picking  us  out  from  everybody,  for  succour.  Damn 
it,  you  've  got  to  respond.  You  're  picked  out.  You ! 
One  human  creature  by  another  human  creature.  Breath 
ing  the  same  air.  Sharing  the  same  mortality.  Respon 
sible  to  the  same  God.  You  've  got  to !  You  can't  help 
yourself.  You  're  caught.  If  you  hear  some  one  appeal 
ing  to  any  one  else  you  can  scuttle  out  of  it.  Get  away. 
Pass  by  on  the  other  side.  Square  it  with  your  conscience 
any  old  how.  But  when  that  some  one  comes  to  you, 
you  're  done,  you  're  fixed.  You  may  hate  it.  You  may 
loathe  and  detest  the  position  that  ''s  been  forced  on  you. 
But  it 's  there.  You  can't  get  out  of  it.  The  same  earth 
as  your  earth  is  there  at  your  feet  imploring  you;  and  if 
you  've  got  a  grain,  a  jot  of  humanity,  you  must,  you 
must,  out  of  the  very  flesh  and  bones  of  you,  respond  to 
that  cry  of  this  your  brother  or  your  sister  made  as  you 
yourself  are  made. 


344  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  *  Well,  Hapgood,'  he  went  on,  '  that 's  one  claim  the 
girl  had  on  us,  and  to  my  way  of  thinking  it  was  enough. 
But  she  had  another,  a  personal  claim.  She  'd  been  in 
our  house,  in  our  service ;  she  was  our  friend ;  sat  with  us ; 
eaten  with  us;  talked  with  us;  shared  with  us;  and  now, 
now,  turned  to  us.  Good  God,  man,  was  that  to  be  re 
fused  ?  Was  that  to  be  denied  ?  Were  we  going  to  re 
pudiate  that?  Were  we  going  to  say,  "Yes,  it's  true 
you  were  here.  You  were  all  very  well  when  you  were  of 
use  to  us ;  that 's  all  true  and  admitted ;  but  now  you  're 
in  trouble  and  you  're  no  use  to  us ;  you  're  in  trouble 
and  no  use,  and  you  can  get  to  hell  out  of  it."  Good 
God,  were  we  to  say  that  ?  ' 

"  You  should  have  seen  his  face;  you  should  have 
heard  his  voice;  you  should  have  seen  him  squirming 
and  twisting  in  his  chair  as  though  this  was  the  very 
roots  of  him  coming  up  out  of  him  and  hurting  him. 
And  I  tell  you,  old  man,  it  was  the  very  roots  of  him. 
It  was  his  creed,  it  was  his  religion,  it  was  his  composi 
tion;  it  was  the  whole  nature  and  basis  and  foundation 
of  the  man  as  it  had  been  storing  up  within  him  all  his 
life,  ever  since  he  was  the  rummy,  thoughtful  sort  of 
beggar  he  used  to  be  as  a  kid  at  old  Wickamote's  thirty 
years  ago.  It  got  me,  I  can  tell  you.  It  made  me  feel 
funny.  Yes,  and  the  next  thing  he  went  on  to  was 
equally  the  blood  and  bones  of  him.  In  a  way  even  more 
characteristic.  He  said,  '  Mind  you,  Hapgood,  I  don't 
blame  my  wife  that  all  this  had  no  effect  on  her.  I  don't 
blame  her  in  the  least,  and  I  never  lost  my  temper  or 
got  angry  over  the  business.  I  see  her  point  of  view 
absolutely.  And  I  see  absolutely  the  point  of  view  of 
the  girl's  father  and  of  every  one  else  who  's  willing  to 
take  in  the  girl  but  insists  she  must  give  up  the  baby. 
I  see  their  point  of  view  and  understand  it  as  plain  as 
I  see  and  understand  that  calendar  hanging  on  the  wall. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  345 

I  see  it  perfectly,'  and  he  laughed  in  a  whimsical  sort  of 
way  and  said,  '  That 's  the  devil  of  it.' 

"Characteristic,  eh?  Wasn't  that  just  exactly 
old  Sabre  at  school  puzzling  up  his  old  nut  and  saying, 
'  Yes,  but  I  see  what  he  means '  ? 

"  Well,  wait  a  bit.  He  came  to  that  again  afterwards. 
It  seems  that,  if  you  please,  the  very  next  day  the  girl 
herself  follows  up  her  letter  by  walking  into  the  house. 
Eh?  Yes,  you  can  well  say  '  By  Jove.'  In  she  walked, 
baby  and  all.  She  'd  walked  all  the  way  from  Tidbor- 
ough,  and  God  knows  how  far  earlier  in  the  day.  Sabre 
said  she  was  half  dead.  She  'd  been  to  her  father's 
house,  and  her  father,  that  terrific-looking  old  Moses 
coming  down  the  mountain  that  I  've  described  to  you, 
had  turned  her  out.  He  'd  take  her  —  he  had  cried  over 
her,  the  poor  crying  creature  said  —  if  she  'd  send  away 
her  baby,  also  if  she  'd  say  who  the  father  was,  but  she 
would  n't.  '  I  can't  let  my  little  baby  go,'  she  said.  Sa 
bre  said  it  was  awful,  hearing  her.  And  so  he  drove 
her  out,  the  old  Moses  man  did,  and  the  poor  soul  tried 
around  for  a  bit  —  no  money  —  and  then  trailed  out  to 
them. 

"  Sabre  would  n't  tell  me  all  that  happened  between 
his  wife  and  himself.  I  gather  that,  in  his  quiet  way, 
perfectly  seeing  his  wife's  point  of  view  and  genuinely 
deeply  distressed  at  the  frightful  pitch  things  were  com 
ing  to,  in  that  sort  of  way  he  nevertheless  got  his  back 
tip  against  his  sense  of  what  he  ought  to  do  and  said 
the  girl  was  not  to  be  sent  away,  that  she  was  to  stop. 

"  His  wife  said,  '  You  're  determined?  ' 

"He  said,  '  Mabel'  (that's  her  name)  '  Mabel,  I'm 
desperately,  poignantly  sorry,  but  I  'm  absolutely  deter 
mined.' 

"  She  said,  *  Very  well.  If  she  's  going  to  be  in  the 
house,  I  'm  going  out  of  it.  I  'm  going  to  my  father's. 


346  IF    WINTER    COMES 

Now.  You  '11  not  expect  the  servants  to  stay  in  the  house 
while  you  've  got  this  —  this  woman  living  with  you  —  ' 
(Yes,  she  said  that.)  '  So  I  shall  pay  them  up  and  send 
Ahem  off,  now,  before  I  go.  Are  you  still  determined?  " 

"  The  poor  devil,  standing  there  with  his  stick  and  his 
game  leg,  and  his  face  working,  said,  '  Mabel,  Mabel, 
believe  me,  it  kills  me  to  say  it,  but  I  am,  absolutely. 
The  girl 's  got  no  home.  She  only  wants  to  keep  her 
baby.  She  must  stop.' 

"  His  wife  went  off  to  the  kitchen. 

"Pretty  fierce,  eh? 

"  Sabre  said  he  sat  where  she  'd  left  him,  in  the  morn 
ing  room  in  a  straight-backed  chair,  with  his  legs  stuck 
out  in  front  of  him,  wrestling  with  it  —  like  hell.  The 
girl  was  in  the  dining  room.  His  wife  and  the  servants 
were  plunging  about  overhead. 

"  In  about  two  hours  his  wife  came  back  dressed  to  go. 
She  said,  '  I  've  packed  my  boxes.  I  shall  send  for  them. 
The  maids  have  packed  theirs  and  they  will  send.  I  've 
sent  them  on  to  the  station  in  front  of  me.  There  's  only 
one  more  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you.  You  say  this 
woman  — '  ('  This  woman,  you  know! '  old  Sabre  said 
when  he  was  telling  me. )  '  You  say  this  woman  has  a 
claim  on  us  ?  ' 

"  He  began,  '  Mabel,  I  do.     I  —  ' 

"  She  said,  '  Do  you  want  my  answer  to  that  ?  My 
answer  is  that  perhaps  she  has  a  claim  on  you! ' 

"  And  she  went." 


Ill 

"Well,  there  you  are,  old  man.  There  it  is.  That's 
the  story.  That 's  the  end.  That 's  the  end  of  my 
story,  but  what  the  end  of  the  story  as  Sabre  's  living  it 
is  going  to  be,  takes  —  well,  it  lets  in  some  pretty  wide 


IF   WINTER    COMES  347 

guessing.  There  he  is,  and  there  's  the  girl,  and  there  's 
the  baby ;  and  he  's  what  he  says  he  is  —  what  I  told  you : 
a  social  outcast,  beyond  the  pale,  ostracized,  excommuni 
cated.  No  one  will  have  anything  to  do  with  him. 
They  've  cleared  him  out  of  the  office,  or  as  good  as  done 
so.  He  says  the  man  Twyning  worked  that.  The  man 
Twyning  —  that  Judas  Iscariot  chap,  you  remember  — 
is  very  thick  with  old  Bright,  the  girl's  father.  Old 
Bright  pretty  naturally  thinks  his  daughter  has  gone 
back  to  the  man  who  is  responsible  for  her  ruin,  and  this 
Twyning  person  —  who  's  a  partner,  by  the  way  —  wrote 
to  Sabre  and  told  him  that,  although  he  personally  did  n't 
believe  it  — '  not  for  a  moment,  old  man,'  he  wrote  — 
still  Sabre  would  appreciate  the  horrible  scandal  that  had 
arisen,  and  would  appreciate  the  fact  that  such  a  scan 
dal  could  not  be  permitted  in  a  firm  like  theirs  with  its 
high  and  holy  Church  connections.  And  so  on.  He  said 
that  he  and  Fortune  had  given  the  position  their  most 
earnest  and  sympathetic  thought  and  prayers  —  and 
prayers,  mark  you  —  and  that  they  'd  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  the  best  thing  to  be  done  was  for  Sabre  to 
resign. 

"  Sabre  says  he  was  knocked  pretty  well  silly  by  this 
step.  He  says  it  was  his  first  realisation  of  the  attitude 
that  everybody  was  going  to  take  up  against  him.  He 
went  off  down  and  saw  them,  and  you  can  imagine  there 
was  a  bit  of  a  scene.  He  said  he  was  dashed  if  he  'd 
resign.  Why  on  earth  should  he  resign?  Was  he  to 
resign  because  he  was  doing  in  common  humanity  what 
no  one  else  had  the  common  humanity  to  do  ?  That  sort 
of  thing.  You  can  imagine  it  did  n't  cut  much  ice  with 
that  crowd.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that  Twyning,  speak 
ing  for  the  firm,  and  calling  him  about  a  thousand  old 
mans  and  that  sort  of  slush,  told  him  that  the  position 
would  be  reconsidered  when  he  ceased  to  have  the  girl 


348  IF    WINTER    COMES 

in  his  house  and  that,  in  the  interests  of  the  firm,  until  he 
did  that  he  must  cease  to  attend  the  office. 

"  And  then  old  Sabre  said  he  began  to  find  himself 
in  exactly  the  same  position  with  every  one.  Every  door 
closed  to  him.  No  one  having  anything  to  do  with  him. 
Even  an  old  chap  next  door,  a  particular  friend  of  his 
called  Fungus  or  Fargus  or  some  such  name  —  even  this 
old  bird's  house  and  his  society  is  forbidden  him.  Sabre 
says  old  Fungus,  or  whatever  his  name  is,  is  all  rightr 
but  it  appears  he  's  ruled  by  about  two  dozen  ramping 
great  daughters,  and  they  won't  let  their  father  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  Sabre.  No,  he  's  shut  right  out,  every 
where. 

"  And  Sabre,  mind  you  —  this  is  Sabre's  extraordi 
nary  point  of  view :  he  's  not  a  bit  furious  with  all  these 
people.  He  's  feeling  his  position  most  frightfully ;  it 's 
eating  the  very  heart  out  of  him,  but  he  's  working  up 
not  the  least  trace  of  bitterness  over  it.  He  says  they  're 
all  supporting  an  absolutely  right  and  just  convention, 
and  that  it 's  not  their  fault  if  the  convention  is  so  hid 
eously  cruel  in  its  application.  He  says  the  absolute  jus 
tice  and  the  frightful  cruelty  of  conventions  has  always 
interested  him,  and  that  he  remembers  once  putting  up  to 
a  great  friend  of  his  as  an  example  this  very  instance  of 
society's  attitude  towards  an  unmarried  girl  who  gets 
into  trouble,  —  never  dreaming  that  one  day  he  was 
going  to  find  himself  up  against  the  full  force  of  it.  He 
said,  '  If  this  poor  girl,  if  any  girl,  did  n't  find  the  world 
against  her  and  every  door  closed  to  her,  just  look  where 
you  'd  be,  Hapgood.  You  'd  have  morality  absolutely 
gone  by  the  board.  No,  all  these  people  are  right,  abso 
lutely  right  —  and  all  conventions  are  absolutely  right  — 
in  their  principle ;  it 's  their  practice  that 's  sometimes  so 
terrible.  And  when  it  is,  how  can  you  turn  round  and 
rage?  I  can't.' 


IF    WINTER    COMES  349 

"  Well,  I  said  to  him  what  I  say  to  you,  old  man.  I 
said,  '  Yes,  that 's  all  right,  Sabre.  That 's  true,  though 
there  're  precious  few  would  take  it  as  moderately  as 
you ;  but  look  here,  where  's  this  going  to  end  ?  Where  's 
it  going  to  land  you  ?  It 's  landed  you  pretty  fiercely  as 
it  is.  Have  you  thought  what  it  may  develop  into? 
What  are  you  doing  about  it  ? ' 

"  He  said  he  was  writing  round,  writing  to  advertisers 
and  to  societies  and  places,  to  find  a  place  where  the  girl 
would  be  taken  in  to  work  and  allowed  to  have  her  baby 
with  her.  He  said  there  must  be  hundreds  of  kind- 
hearted  people  about  the  place  who  would  do  it;  it  was 
only  a  question  of  finding  them.  Well,  as  to  that,  kind 
hearts  are  more  than  coronets  and  all  that  kind  of  thing, 
but  it  strikes  me  they  're  a  jolly  side  harder  than  coronets 
to  find  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  an  unmarried 
mother  and  her  baby,  and  when  the  kind  hearts,  being 
found,  come  to  make  inquiries  and  find  that  the  person 
making  application  on  the  girl's  behalf  is  the  man  she  's 
apparently  living  with,  and  the  man  with  Sabre's  ex 
traordinary  record  in  regard  to  the  girl.  I  did  n't  say 
that  to  poor  old  Sabre.  I  had  n't  the  face  to.  But  I  say 
it  to  you.  You  're  no  doubt  thinking  it  for  yourself. 
All  that  chain  of  circumstances,  eh?  Went  out  of  his 
way  to  get  her  her  first  job.  Got  her  into  his  house.  In  a 
way  responsible  for  her  getting  the  sack.  Child  born 
just  about  when  it  must  have  been  born  after  she  'd  been 
sacked.  Girl  coming  to  him  for  help.  Writing  to  his 
wife,  *  If  only  you  knew  the  truth.'  Wife  leaving  him. 
Eh  ?  It 's  pretty  fierce,  is  n't  it  ?  And  I  don't  believe 
he  's  got  an  idea  of  it.  I  don't  believe  he  realises  for  a 
moment  what  an  extraordinary  coil  it  all  is.  God  help 
him  if  he  ever  does.  He  '11  want  it. 

"  No,  I  did  n't  say  a  word  like  that  to  him.  I  could  n't. 
The  nearest  I  got  to  it  was  I  said,  '  Well,  but  time  's 


350  IF    WINTER    COMES 

getting  on,  you  know,  old  man.  It 's  a  —  a  funny  position 
on  the  face  of  it.  What  do  you  suppose  your  wife  's 
thinking  all  this  time  ?  ' 

"  He  said  his  wife  would  be  absolutely  all  right  once 
he  'd  found  a  home  for  the  girl  and  sent  her  away.  He 
said  his  wife  was  always  a  bit  sharp  in  her  views  of 
things,  but  that  she  'd  be  all  right  when  it  was  all  over. 

"  I  said,  '  H'm.    Heard  from  her?  ' 

"  He  had  —  once.  He  showed  me  the  letter.  Well, 
you  know,  old  man,  every  fox  knows  what  foxes  smell 
like;  and  I  smelt  a  dear  brother  solicitor's  smell  in  that 
letter.  Smelt  it  strong.  Asking  him  to  make  a  home 
possible  for  her  to  return  to  so  they  might  resume  their 
life  together.  I  recognised  it.  I  've  dictated  dozens. 

"  I  handed  it  back.  I  said,  l  H'm '  again.  I  said, 
'  H'm,  you  remember,  old  man,  there  was  that  remark  of 
hers  just  as  she  was  leaving  you  —  that  remark  that  per 
haps  the  girl  might  have  a  claim  on  you.  Remember  that, 
don't  you  ? ' 

"  By  Jove,  I  thought  for  a  minute  he  was  going  to 
flare  up  and  let  me  have  it.  But  he  laughed  instead. 
Laughed  as  if  I  was  a  fool  and  said,  '  Oh,  good  Lord, 
man,  that 's  utterly  ridiculous.  That  was  only  just  my 
wife's  way.  My  wife  's  got  plenty  of  faults  to  find  with 
me  —  but  that  kind  of  thing!  Man  alive,  with  all  my 
faults,  my  wife  knows  me/ 

"  Perhaps  —  I  say,  my  holy  aunt,  it 's  nearly  two 
o'clock !  Come  on,  I  'm  for  bed.  Perhaps  his  wife  does 
know  him.  What  I  'm  thinking  is,  does  he  know  his 
wife  ?  I  'm  a  solicitor.  I  know  what  I  'd  say  if  she  came 
to  me." 


CHAPTER   III 

I 

ON  a  day  a  month  later  —  in  May  —  Hapgood  said : 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you.  Old  Sabre  —  by  Jove,  it 's  fright 
ful.  He  's  crashed.  The  roof  's  fallen  in  on  him.  He  's 
nearly  out  of  his  mind.  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  like  it  a 
bit.  I  've  only  just  left  him.  Here,  in  London.  A 
couple  of  hours  ago.  I  ought  n't  to  have  left  him.  The 
chap  's  not  fit  to  be  left.  But  I  had  to.  He  cleared  me 
off.  I  had  to  go.  He  was  n't  in  a  state  to  be  argued  with. 
I  was  frightened  of  irritating  him.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  'm  frightened  now  about  him.  Dead  frightened. 

"  Look  here,  it 's  in  two  parts,  this  sudden  develop 
ment.  Two  parts  as  I  saw  it.  Begins  all  right  and  then 
works  up.  Two  parts  —  morning  and  afternoon  yester 
day  and  a  bit  to-day.  And  of  all  extraordinary  places  to 
happen  at  —  Brighton. 

"  Yes,  Brighton.  I  was  down  there  for  a  Saturday  to 
Monday  with  my  Missus.  This  absolutely  topping 
weather,  you  know.  We  were  coming  back  Monday  even 
ing.  Yesterday.  Very  well.  Monday  morning  we 
were  sunning  on  the  pier,  she  and  I.  I  was  reading  the 
paper,  she  was  watching  the  people  and  making  remarks 
about  them.  If  Paradise  is  doing  in  the  next  world  what 
you  best  liked  doing  in  this,  my  wife  will  ask  Peter  if  she 
can  sit  at  the  gate  and  watch  the  demobilised  souls  arriv 
ing  and  pass  remarks  about  them.  She  certainly  will. 

"  Well,  all  of  a  sudden  she  began,  '  Oh,  what  a  fright- 


352  IF   WINTER    COMES 

fully  wteresting  face  that  man  's  got ! '  That 's  the  way 
she  talks.  '  What  a  most  wteresting  face.  Do  look, 
Percy.' 

"  I  said,  '  Well,  so  have  I  got  an  interesting  face. 
Look  at  mine.' 

"  '  Oh,  but  do,  Percy.  You  must.  On  that  seat  by 
himself  just  opposite.  He  's  just  staring  at  nothing  and 
thinking  and  thinking.  And  his  face  looks  so  worn  and 
tired  and  yet  so  very  kind  and  such  a  wistful  look  as 
though  he  was  thinking  of  — ' 

"  I  growled,  still  reading :  '  He 's  probably  thinking 
what  he  's  going  to  have  for  lunch.  Oh,  dash  it,  do  stop 
jogging  me.  Where  is  he?' 

"And  then  I  looked  across.  Old  Sabre!  By  Jove, 
you  might  have  pushed  me  over  with  one  finger.  Old 
Sabre  in  a  tweed  suit  and  a  soft  hat,  and  his  game  leg 
stuck  out  straight,  and  his  old  stick,  and  his  hands  about 
a  thousand  miles  deep  in  his  pockets,  and  looking  —  yes, 
my  wife  said  the  true  thing  when  she  said  how  he  was 
looking.  Any  one  would  have  taken  a  second  squint  at 
old  Sabre's  face  as  I  saw  it  then  —  taken  a  second  squint 
and  wondered  what  he  'd  been  through  and  what  on  earth 
his  mind  could  be  on  now.  They  certainly  would. 

"  I  knew.  I  knew ;  but  I  tell  you  this,  I  could  see  he  'd 
been  through  a  tough  lot  more,  and  thought  a  considerable 
number  of  fathoms  deeper,  in  the  month  since  I  'd  seen 
him  last.  Yes,  by  Jove,  I  could  see  that  without  spec 
tacles. 

"  I  went  over  to  him.  You  could  have  pushed  him  off 
the  seat  with  one  finger  when  he  saw  me.  Except  that 
you  would  n't  have  had  any  fingers  worth  using  as  fingers, 
after  he  'd  squeezed  your  hands  as  he  squeezed  mine. 
Both  of  them.  And  his  face  like  a  shout  on  a  sunny 
morning.  Yes,  he  was  pleased.  I  like  to  think  how  jolly 
pleased  the  old  chap  was. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  353 

"  I  took  him  over  to  my  wife,  and  my  wife  climbed 
all  over  him,  and  we  chatted  round  for  a  bit,  and  then  I 
worked  off  my  wife  on  a  bunch  of  people  we  knew  and 
I  got  old  Sabre  on  to  a  secluded  bench  and  started  in  on 
him.  What  on  earth  was  he  doing  down  at  Brighton, 
and  how  were  things? 

"  He  said  '  Things  .  .  .  ?  Things  are  happening  with 
me,  Hapgood.  Not  to  me  —  with  me.  Happening  pretty 
fierce  and  pretty  quick.  I  'm  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
most  extraordinary,  the  most  astounding,  the  most  amaz 
ing  things.  I  had  to  get  away  from  them  for  a  bit.  I 
simply  had  to.  I  came  down  here  for  a  week-end  to  get 
away  from  them  and  go  on  wrestling  them  out  when  they 
were  n't  right  under  my  eyes.  I  'm  going  back  to-morrow. 
Effie  was  all  right  —  with  her  baby.  She  was  glad  I 
should  go  —  glad  for  me,  I  mean.  Poor  kid,  poor  kid. 
Top  of  her  own  misery,  Hapgood,  she  's  miserable  to 
death  at  what  she  says  she  's  let  me  in  for.  She  's  always 
crying  about  it.  Crying.  She  's  torn  between  knowing 
my  house  is  the  only  place  where  she  can  have  her  baby, 
between  that  and  seeing  what  her  coming  into  the  place 
has  caused.  She  spends  her  time  trying  to  do  any  little 
thing  she  can  to  make  me  comfortable,  hunts  about 
for  any  little  thing  she  can  do  for  me.  It 's  pathetic,  you 
know.  At  least,  it 's  pathetic  to  me.  Jumped  at  this  sud 
den  idea  of  mine  of  getting  away  for  a  couple  of  days. 
Said  it  would  please  her  more  than  anything  in  the 
world  to  know  I  was  right  away  from  it  all  for  a  bit. 
Fussed  over  me  packing  up  and  all  that,  you  know.  Pa 
thetic.  Frightfully.  Look,  just  to  show  you  how  she 
hunts  about  for  anything  to  do  for  me  —  said  my  old 
straw  hat  was  much  too  shabby  for  Brighton  and  would 
I  get  her  some  stuff,  oxalic  acid,  and  let  her  clean  it  up 
for  me.  That  sort  of  little  trifle.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  made  such  a  shocking  mess  of  the  hat  that  I  hardly 


354  IF    WINTER    COMES 

liked  to  wear  it.  Could  n't  hurt  her  feelings,  though. 
Chucked  it  into  the  sea  when  I  got  here  and  bought  this 
one.  Make  a  funny  story  for  her  when  I  get  back  about 
how  it  blew  off.  That 's  the  sort  of  life  we  lead  together, 
Hapgood.  She  always  trying  to  do  little  things  for  me 
and  I  trying  to  think  out  little  jokes  for  her  to  try  and 
cheer  her  up.  Give  you  another  example.  Just  when  I 
had  brought  her  the  stuff  for  my  hat.  Met  me  with, 
Had  I  lost  anything?  Made  a  mystery  of  it.  Said  I 
was  to  guess.  Guessed  at  last  that  it  must  be  my  cigar 
ette  case.  It  was.  She  'd  found  it  lying  about  and  took 
me  to  show  where  she  'd  put  it  for  safety  —  in  the  back 
of  the  clock  in  my  room.  Said  I  was  always  to  look  there 
for  any  little  valuables  I  might  miss,  and  wanted  me  to 
know  how  she  liked  to  be  careful  of  my  things  like  that. 
Fussing  over  me,  d'  you  see  ?  Trying  to  make  it  seem 
we  were  living  normal,  ordinary  lives. 

"  '  That 's  the  sort  of  life  we  lead  together,  Hapgood 
—  together;  but  the  life  I'm  caught  up  in,  the  things 
that  are  happening  with  me,  that  I  'm  right  in  the  middle 
of,  that  I  felt  I  had  to  get  away  from  for  a  bit  —  astound 
ing,  Hapgood,  astounding,  amazing.  .  .  . ' 

"  I  'm  trying  to  give  you  exactly  his  own  words,  old 
man.  I  want  you  to  get  this  business  just  exactly  as  I 
got  it.  Old  Sabre  turned  to  me  with  that  —  with  that 
'  astounding,  amazing  ' —  turned  and  faced  me  and  said : 

"  '  Hapgood,  I  'm  finding  out  the  most  extraordinary 
things  about  this  life  as  we  Ve  made  it  and  as  we  live  it. 
Hapgood,  if  I  kept  forty  women  in  different  parts  of 
London  and  made  no  secret  of  it,  nothing  would  be  said. 
People  would  know  I  was  rather  a  shameless  lot,  my  little 
ways  would  be  an  open  secret,  but  nothing  would  be  said. 
I  should  be  received  everywhere.  But  I  'm  thought  to 
have  brought  one  woman  into  my  house  and  I  'm  banned. 
I  'm  unspeakable.  Forty,  flagrantly,  outside,  and  I  'm 


IF    WINTER    COMES  355 

still  a  received  member  of  society.  People  are  sorry  for 
my  wife,  or  pretend  to  be,  but  I  'm  still  all  right,  a  bit  of 
a  rake,  you  know,  but  a  decent  enough  chap.  But  I  take 
pity  on  one  poor  girl  because  she  clings  to  her  mother 
hood  although  she  's  unmarried,  and  I  'm  beyond  the  pale. 
I  'm  unspeakable.  Amazing.  Do  you  say  it 's  not  abso 
lutely  astounding? 

"  '  Hapgood,  look  here.  It 's  this.  This  is  what  I  've 
found.  You  can  do  the  shocking  things,  and  it  can  be 
known  you  do  the  shocking  things.  But  you  must  n't  be 
seen  doing  them.  You  can  beat  your  wife,  and  it  can  be 
known  among  your  friends  that  you  beat  your  wife.  But 
you  must  n't  be  seen  beating  her.  You  must  n't  beat  her 
in  the  street  or  in  your  neighbour's  garden.  You  can 
drink,  and  it  can  be  known  you  drink ;  but  you  must  n't 
be  seen  drunk. 

"  '  Do  you  see,  Hapgood  ?  Do  you  see  ?  The  conven 
tions  are  all  right,  moral,  sound,  excellent,  admirable,  but 
to  save  their  own  face  there  's  a  blind  side  to  them,  a  shut- 
eye  side.  Keep  that  side  of  them  and  you  're  all  right. 
They  '11  let  you  alone.  They  '11  pretend  they  don't  see 
you.  But  come  out  and  stand  in  front  of  them  and 
they  '11  devour  you.  They  '11  smash  and  grind  and  de 
vour  you,  Hapgood.  They  're  devouring  me. 

"  '  That 's  where  they  've  got  me  in  their  jaws,  Hap 
good;  and  where  they  've  got  Effie  in  their  jaws  is  just 
precisely  again  on  a  blind,  shut-eye  side.  .  .  .  They  're 
rightly  based,  they  're  absolutely  just,  you  can't  gainsay 
them,  but  to  save  their  face,  again,  they  're  indomitably 
blind  and  deaf  to  the  hideous  cruelties  in  their  applica 
tion.  They  mean  well.  They  cause  the  most  frightful 
suffering,  the  most  frightful  tragedies,  but  they  won't 
look  at  them,  they  won't  think  of  them,  they  won't  speak 
of  them :  they  mean  well  .  .  . ' 

"  Old  Sabre  put  his  head  in  his  hands.    He  might  have 


356  IF   WINTER    COMES 

been  praying.  He  looked  to  me  sort  of  physically 
wrestling  with  what  he  called  the  jaws  that  had  got  him 
and  had  got  her.  He  looked  up  at  me  and  he  said, 
'  Hapgood,  this  is  where  I  've  got  to.  This  is  where  I  am. 
Hapgood,  life  's  all  wrong,  stupid,  cruel,  blundering,  but 
it  means  well.  We  Ve  shaped  it  to  fit  us  as  we  think  we 
ought  to  live  and  it  means  well.  Means  well !  My  God, 
Hapgood,  the  most  terrible,  the  most  lamentable  self- 
confession  that  ears  can  hear —  "  I  meant  well."  Some 
frightful  blunder  committed,  some  irreparable  harm  in 
flicted,  and  that  piteous,  heart-broken,  heart-breaking, 
maddening,  infuriating  excuse,  "  I  meant  well.  I  meant 
well.  Why  didn't  some  one  tell  me?"  Life  means 
well,  Hapgood.  It  does  mean  well.  It  only  wants  some 
one  to  tell  it  where  it 's  going  wrong,  where  it 's  blunder 
ing,  where  it 's  just  missing,  and  why  it 's  just  missing,  all 
it  means  to  do/ 

"  With  that  he  went  back  to  all  that  stuff  I  told  you 
he  told  me  when  I  was  down  with  him  last  month  —  that 
stuff  about  the  need  for  a  new  revelation  suited  to  men's 
minds  to-day,  the  need  for  new  light.  I  can't  tell  you  all 
that  —  it 's  not  in  my  line,  that  sort  of  talk.  But  he  said, 
his  face  all  pink  under  his  skin,  he  said,  '  Hapgood,  I  '11 
tell  you  a  thing.  I  've  got  the  secret.  I  've  got  the  key  to 
the  riddle  that 's  been  puzzling  me  all  my  life.  I  've  got 
the  new  revelation  in  terms  good  enough  for  me  to  un 
derstand.  Light,  more  light.  Here  it  is :  God  is  —  love. 
Not  this,  that,  nor  the  other  that  the  intelligence  revolts 
at,  and  puts  aside,  and  goes  away,  and  goes  on  hungering, 
hungering  and  unsatisfied;  nothing  like  that;  but  just 
this:  plain  for  a  child,  clear  as  daylight  for  grown  in 
telligence:  God  is  —  love.  Listen  to  this,  Hapgood: 
"  He  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in  God  and  God  in 
him;  for  God  is  love."  Ecstasy,  Hapgood,  ecstasy!  It 
explains  everything  to  me.  I  can  reduce  all  the  mysteries 


IF   WINTER    COMES  357 

to  terms  of  that.  One  of  these  days,  perhaps  one  of  these 
days,  I  '11  be  able  to  write  it  and  tell  people.' 

"  I  tell  you,  old  man,  you  can  think  what  you  like  about 
it,  but  old  Sabre,  when  he  was  telling  me  that,  was  a 
pretty  first-class  advertisement  for  his  own  revelation. 
He  'd  found  it  all  right.  The  look  on  him  was  nearer  the 
divine  than  anything  I  've  ever  come  near  seeing.  It  cer 
tainly  was. 

"  So  you  see  that  was  the  morning  part  of  this  that  I  'm 
telling  you,  what  I  called  the  first  part,  and  it  was  not 
too  bad.  He  'd  been  through,  he  was  going  through 
some  pretty  fierce  things,  but  he  was  holding  up  under 
them.  Oh,  some  pretty  fierce  things.  I  have  n't  told 
you  half.  One  thing  that  hit  him  hard  as  he  could  bear 
was  that  that  old  pal  of  his,  Fungus  or  Fargus,  Fargus 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  old  chap  fell  dying  and  did  die  — 
knocked  out  by  pneumonia  special  constabling  —  and 
those  dashed  ramping  great  daughters  of  his  would  n't 
let  poor  old  Sabre  into  the  house  to  see  him.  Fact.  He 
said  it  hurt  him  worse,  made  him  realise  worse  what  a 
ban  he  was  up  against,  than  anything  that 's  happened  to 
him.  It  would.  That  chap  dying  and  him  too  shocking 
to  be  admitted. 

"  They  did  grant  him  one  squint  of  his  old  friend, 
about  five  minutes,  and  stood  over  him  like  dragons  all 
the  time,  five  of  them.  Came  to  him  one  morning  and 
said,  as  though  they  were  speaking  to  a  leper  through 
bars,  said,  sort  of  holding  their  noses,  '  We  have  to  ask 
you  to  come  to  see  Papa.  The  doctor  thinks  there  is 
something  Papa  wishes  to  say  to  you/ 

"  What  it  was,  apparently,  was  that  the  old  gentleman 
had  some  sort  of  funny  old  notion  that  he  was  put  into 
life  for  a  definite  purpose  and  when  Sabre  saw  him  he 
could  just  whisper  to  Sabre  that  he  was  agonised  because 
he  was  dying  before  he  'd  done  anything  that  could  pos- 


358  IF    WINTER    COMES 

sibly  be  it.  Poor  old  Sabre  said  it  was  too  terrible  for 
him,  because  what  could  he  say  with  that  pack  of  grim 
daughters  standing  over  him  to  see  he  did  n't  contam 
inate  their  papa  on  his  death  bed?  He  said  he  could 
only  hold  his  old  pal's  hand,  and  had  the  tears  running 
down  his  face,  and  could  n't  say  a  word,  and  they  hus 
tled  him  out,  sort  of  holding  their  noses  again,  and  sort 
of  disinfecting  the  place  as  they  went  along.  He  said  to 
me,  brokenly,  '  Hapgood,  I  felt  I  'd  touched  bottom.  My 
old  friend,  you  know.'  He  said  he  went  again  next 
morning,  like  a  tradesman,  just  to  beg  for  news.  They 
told  him,  '  Papa  has  passed  away.'  He  asked  them, 
'  Did  he  say  anything  at  the  last?  Do  please  tell  me  just 
that.'  They  said  he  suddenly  almost  sat  up  and  called  out 
something  they  could  n't  understand  about,  '  Ay,  ready ! ' 
Sabre  said  he  understood  and  thanked  God  for  it.  He 
did  n't  tell  me  what  it  meant ;  it  broke  him  right  up  even 
talking  about  it.  There  was  another  thing  he  men 
tioned  but  would  n't  go  into.  Some  other  great  friend,  a 
woman,  whom  he  said  he  'd  cut  right  off  out  of  his  ac 
quaintance  —  would  n't  answer  her  letters :  realised  how 
the  world  was  regarding  him  and  felt  he  could  n't  impose 
himself  on  any  one.  He  seemed  to  suffer  over  that,  too." 

II 

"  Well,  that  was  the  morning,  old  man.  That  was  the 
first  part,  and  you  see  how  it  went.  He  was  pretty 
badly  in  the  depths  but  he  was  holding  on.  He  'd  got 
this  great  discovery  of  his,  and  the  idea  of  writing  about 
it  after  his  History,  he  said.  *  If  I  'm  ever  able  to  take 
up  my  History  again/  he  said.  Badly  down  as  he  was, 
at  least  he  'd  got  that  and  he  'd  also  got  to  help  him  the 
•extraordinary,  reasonable,  reasoning  view  he  took  of  the 
whole  business :  no  bitterness  against  any  one,  just  un- 


IF   WINTER    COMES  359 

derstanding  their  point  of  view  as  he  always  has  under 
stood  the  other  point  of  view,  just  that  and  puzzling  over 
it  all.  On  the  whole,  and  considering  all  things,  not  too 
bad.  Not  too  bad.  Bad,  desperately  pathetic,  I  thought, 
but  not  too  bad.  That  was  the  morning.  He  would  n't 
come  to  lunch  with  us.  He  had  n't  liked  meeting  my 
wife  as  it  was.  And  of  course  I  could  understand  how 
he  felt,  poor  chap.  So  I  left  him. 

"  I  left  him.  When  I  saw  him  again  was  about  three 
o'clock,  and  I  walked  right  into  the  middle  of  the  de 
velopment  that,  as  I  told  you,  has  pretty  well  let  the  roof 
down  on  him. 

"  I  strolled  round  to  his  hotel,  a  one-horse  sort  of  place 
off  the  front.  He  was  in  the  lobby.  No  one  else  there. 
Only  a  man  who  'd  just  been  speaking  to  him  and  who 
left  him  and  went  out  as  I  came  in. 

"  Sabre  had  two  papers  in  his  hands.  He  was  staring 
at  them  and  you  'd  ha'  thought  from  his  face  he  was  star 
ing  at  a  ghost.  What  d'  you  think  they  were  ?  Guess. 
Man  alive,  the  chap  I  'd  seen  going  out  had  just  served 
them  on  him.  They  were  divorce  papers.  The  citation 
and  petition  papers  that  have  to  be  served  personally. 
Divorce  papers.  His  wife  had  instituted  divorce  pro 
ceedings  against  him.  Naming  the  girl,  Effie. 
'  Yes,  you  can  whistle.  .  .  . 

"  You  can  whistle.  I  could  n't.  I  had  too  much  to  do. 
He  was  knocked  out.  Right  out.  I  got  him  up  to  his 
room.  Tried  to  stuff  a  drink  into  him.  Could  n't. 
Stuffed  it  into  myself.  Two.  Wanted  them  pretty 
badly. 

"  Well  —  I  tell  you.  It  was  pretty  awful.  He  sat  on 
the  bed  with  the  papers  in  his  hand,  gibbering.  Just 
gibbering.  No  other  word  for  it.  Was  his  wife  mad? 
Was  she  crazy  ?  Had  she  gone  out  of  her  mind  ?  He  to 
be  guilty  of  a  thing  like  that?  He  capable  of  a  beastly 


360  IF    WINTER   COMES 

thing  like  that?  She  to  believe,  she  to  believe  he  was 
that?  His  wife?  Mabel?  Was  it  possible?  A  vile, 
hideous,  sordid  intrigue  with  a  girl  employed  in  his  own 
house?  Effie!  His  wife  to  believe  that?  An  unspeak 
able,  beastly  thing  like  that?  He  tried  to  show  me  with 
his  finger  the  words  on  the  paper.  His  finger  shaking 
all  over  the  thing.  '  Hapgood,  Hapgood,  do  you  see  this 
vile,  obscene  word  here?  I  guilty  of  that?  My  wife, 
Mabel,  think  me  capable  of  that?  Do  you  see  what  they 
call  me,  Hapgood?  What  they  call  me  by  implication, 
what  my  wife,  Mabel,  thinks  I  am,  what  I  am  to  be 
pointed  at  and  called?  Adulterer!  Adulterer!  My 
God,  my  God,  adulterer !  The  word  makes  me  sick.  The 
very  word  is  like  poison  in  my  mouth.  And  I  am  to 
swallowr  it.  It  is  to  be  me,  me,  my  name,  my  title,  my 
brand.  Adulterer !  Adulterer ! ' 

"  I  tell  you,  old  man  ...  I  tell  you  .   .   . 

"  I  managed  to  get  him  talking  about  the  practical 
side  of  it.  That  is  I  managed  to  make  him  listen  while 
I  talked.  I  told  him  the  shop  of  the  business.  Told  him 
that  these  papers  had  to  be  served  on  him  personally,  as 
they  had  been,  and  on  the  girl,  too.  I  said  I  guessed  that 
the  solicitor's  clerk  I  'd  seen  going  out  had  been  down  to 
Penny  Green  the  previous  day  or  the  day  before  and 
served  them  on  Erfie  and  got  his  address  from  her.  I 
told  him  the  first  step  was  that  within  eight  days  he  had 
to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  Probate  and  Divorce 
Registry  and  enter  a  defence  —  just  intimate  that  he 
intended  to  defend  the  action,  d'  you  see  ?  And  that  the 
girl  would  have  to  too.  After  that  no  doubt  he  'd  in 
struct  solicitors,  and  that  of  course  I  'd  be  glad  to  take 
on  the  job  for  him. 

"Well,  of  all  this  jargon  —  me  being  mighty  glad  to 
have  anything  to  keep  talking  about,  you  understand  — 
of  all  this  jargon  there  were  only  two  bits  he  froze  on  to, 


IF   WINTER    COMES  361 

and  froze  on  hard,  I  can  tell  you.  I  thought  he  was  going 
mad  the  way  he  went  on.  I  still  think  he  may.  That 's 
why  I  'm  frightened  about  him.  He  just  sat  there  on 
the  bed  while  I  talked  and  kept  saying  to  himjself, 
'  Adulterer !  Adulterer !  Me.  Adulterer ! '  It  was 
awful. 

""  What  he  caught  on  to  was  what  I  told  him  about 
appearing  at  the  Divorce  Registry  within  eight  days  and 
about  instructing  a  solicitor  afterwards.  He  said  he  'd 
go  to  the  Registry  at  once  —  at  once,  at  once,  at  once! 
and  he  said,  very  impolitely,  poor  chap,  that  he  'd  instruct 
no  infernal  solicitors ;  he  'd  do  the  whole  thing  himself. 
He  had  the  feeling,  I  could  see,  that  he  must  be  spurning 
this  horrible  thing,  and  spurning  it  at  once,  and  spurning 
it  himself.  He  was  like  a  chap  with  his  clothes  on  fire, 
crazy  only  to  rush  into  water  and  get  rid  of  it.  The 
stigma  of  the  thing  was  so  intolerable  to  him  that  his 
feeling  was  that  he  couldn  't  sit  by  and  let  other  people  de 
fend  him  and  do  the  business  for  him ;  he  must  do  it  him 
self,  hurl  it  back  with  his  own  hands,  shout  it  back  with 
his  own  throat.  He  '11  calm  down  and  get  more  reason 
able  in  time,  no  doubt,  and  then  I  '11  have  another  go  at 
him  about  running  the  case  for  him;  but  anyway,  there 
was  the  one  thing  he  could  do  pretty  well  there  and  then, 
and  that  was  enter  his  defence  at  the  registry.  So  I 
took  charge  of  him  to  help  him  ease  his  mind  that  much. 
"  I  took  charge  of  him.  He  was  n't  capable  of  think 
ing  of  anything  for  himself.  I  packed  his  bag  and  paid 
his  bill  and  took  him  round  to  our  hotel  and  it  was  n't 
far  off  then  to  the  train  my  wife  and  I  had  fixed  to  get 
back  on.  I  told  my  wife  what  had  happened  and  she 
played  the  brick.  You  see,  the  chap  was  like  as  if  he  was 
dazed.  Like  as  if  he  was  walking  in  a  trance.  Just 
did  what  he  was  told  and  said  nothing.  So  we  played  it 
up  on  that,  my  missus  and  I;  we  just  sort  of  took  him 


362  IF   WINTER   COMES 

along  without  consulting  him  or  seeming  to  take  any 
notice  of  him.  It  was  too  late  to  do  anything  that 
night  when  we  got  up  to  town.  He  made  a  bit  of  a  fuss, 
lost  his  temper  and  swore  I  was  trying  to  hinder  him; 
but  my  wife  managed  him  a  treat;  by  Jove,  she  was 
marvellous  with  him,  and  we  got  him  round  to  our  flat 
and  put  him  up  for  the  night.  I  pushed  him  off  to  bed 
early,  but  I  heard  him  walking  up  and  down  his  room 
hours  after  and  talking  to  himself  —  talking  in  tones  of 
horror  — 'Me!  Me!  Adulterer!' 

"  It  was  rather  dreadful,  hearing  the  poor  chap.  You 
see,  what  was  the  matter  with  him  was,  being  the  fright 
fully  clean,  intensely  refined  sort  of  chap  he  is,  appalling 
horror  at  being  thought,  by  his  wife  who  knew  him  so 
well,  capable  of  what  was  so  repulsive  to  his  mind.  He 
loathed  the  very  sound  of  the  word  that  was  used  against 
him.  Obscene,  he  kept  on  calling  it.  He  was  like  a  man 
fallen  in  a  mire  and  plucking  at  the  filthy  stuff  all  over 
him  and  reeking  of  it  and  not  able  to  eat  or  sleep  or 
think  or  do  anything  but  go  mad  with  it.  That  was  how 
it  got  him.  Like  that. 

"  Next  morning  —  that 's  this  morning,  you  under 
stand —  he  was  a  little  more  normal,  able  to  realise 
things  a  bit,  I  mean:  thanked  my  wife  for  putting  him 
up  and  hoped  he  had  n't  been  horribly  rude  or  anything 
last  night.  More  normal,  you  see :  still  in  a  panic  fever 
to  be  off  and  state  at  the  Registrar's  that  he  was  going 
to  defend  the  action;  but  normal  enough  for  me  to  see 
it  was  all  right  for  him  to  go  straight  on  home  imme 
diately  after  and  tell  the  girl  what  she  had  to  do  and  all 
that.  I  told  him,  by  the  way,  that  it  would  pretty  well 
have  to  come  out  now,  ultimately,  who  the  child's  father 
was:  the  girl  would  practically  have  to  give  that  up  in 
the  end  to  clear  him.  You  know,  I  told  him  that  in  the 
cab  going  along  down.  He  ground  his  teeth  over  it.  It 


IF   WINTER    COMES  363 

was  horrible  to  hear  him.  He  said  he  'd  kill  the  chap  if 
he  could  ever  discover  him;  ground  his  teeth  and  said 
he  'd  kill  him,  now  —  after  this. 

"  Well,  he  got  through  his  business  about  twelve  — 
just  a  formality,  you  know,  declaring  his  intention  to 
defend.  Then  a  thing  happened.  Can't  think  now  what 
it  meant.  We  were  waiting  for  a  cab  near  the  Law 
Courts.  I  had  his  bag.  He  was  going  straight  on  to  the 
station,  A  cab  was  just  pulling  in  when  a  man  came  up, 
an  ordinary  enough  looking  cove,  tall  chap,  and  touched 
Sabre  and  said,  '  Mr.  Sabre  ?  '  Sabre  said,  '  Yes  '  and 
the  chap  said  very  civilly,  '  Might  I  speak  to  you  a  min 
ute,  sir?' 

"  They  went  aside.  I  was  n't  looking  at  them.  I  was 
watching  a  chap  on  a  bike  tumble  off  in  front  of  a  motor 
bus,  near  as  a  toucher  run  over.  Suddenly  some  one 
shoved  past  me  and  there  was  old  Sabre  getting  into  the 
cab  with  this  chap  who  had  come  up  to  him.  I  said, 
'Hullo!  Hullo,  are  you  off?' 

"  We  'd  arranged,  d'  you  see,  to  part  there.  I  had  to 
get  back  to  my  chambers.  He  turned  round  on  me  a  face 
grey  as  ashes,  absolutely  dead  grey.  I  'd  never  seen  such 
a  colour  in  a  man's  face.  He  said,  '  Yes,  I  'm  off,'  and 
sort  of  fell  over  his  stick  into  the  cab.  The  man,  who 
was  already  in,  righted  him  on  to  the  seat  and  said, 
'  Paddington  '  to  the  driver  who  was  at  the  door,  shutting 
it.  I  said,  through  the  window,  '  Sabre !  Old  man,  are 
you  ill  ?  What 's  up  ?  Shall  I  come  with  you  ?  ' 

"  He  put  his  head  towards  me  and  said  in  the  most 
extraordinary  voice,  speaking  between  his  clenched  teeth 
as  though  he  was  keeping  himself  from  yelling  out,  he 
said,  *  If  you  love  me,  Hapgood,  get  right  away  out  of  it 
from  me  and  let  me  alone.  This  man  happens  to  live  at 
Tidborough.  I  know  him.  We  're  going  down  together/ 

"I  said,  '  Sabre  —  ' 


364  IF   WINTER   COMES 

"  He  clenched  his  teeth  so  they  were  all  bare  with  his 
lips  contracting.  He  said,  '  Let  me  alone.  Let  me  alone. 
Let  me  alone.' 

"  And  they  pushed  off. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to  do.  I  'm  going  down 
there  to-morrow.  I  'm  frightened  about  him." 


CHAPTER   IV 

r 

HAPGOOD  had  said  to  his  friend  of  the  effect  on  Sabre 
of  Mabel's  action  against  him :  "  He  's  crashed.  The 
roof  's  fallen  in  on  him."  And  that  had  been  Sabre's 
own  belief.  But  it  was  not  so.  There  are  degrees  of 
calamity.  Dumfounded,  stunned,  aghast,  Sabre  would 
not  have  believed  that  conspiracy  against  him  of  all 
the  powers  of  darkness  could  conceivably  worsen  his 
plight.  They  had  shot  their  bolt.  He  was  stricken 
amain.  He  was  in  the  crucible  of  disaster  and  in  its 
heart  where  the  furnace  is  white. 

But  they  had  not  shot  their  bolt.  The  roof  had  not  yet 
fallen  on  him.  They  had  discharged  but  a  petard,  but  a 
mine  to  effect  a  breach.  The  timbers  of  the  superstruc 
ture  had  but  bent  and  cracked  and  groaned. 

Their  bolt  was  shot,  the  roof  crashed  in,  the  four  sides 
of  his  world  tottered  and  collapsed  upon  him,  with  the 
words  spoken  to  Sabre  by  that  man  who  approached 
and  took  him  aside  while  he  stood  to  take  leave  of  Hap- 
good. 

The  man  said,  "  I  daresay  you  know  me  by  sight,  Mr. 
Sabre.  I  've  seen  you  about  the  town.  I  'm  the  coroner's 
officer  at  Tidborough.  You  're  rather  wanted  down 
there.  I  've  been  to  Brighton  after  you  and  followed 
here  and  just  took  a  lucky  chance  on  finding  you 
about  this  part.  You  're  rather  wanted  down  there.  The 


366  IF   WINTER   COMES 

fact  is  that  young  woman  that 's  been  living  with  you*s 
been  found  dead." 

Sabre's  face  took  then  the  strange  and  awful  hue  that 
Hapgood  had  marked  upon  it. 

"Found  dead?     Found  dead?     Where?" 

"  In  your  house,  Mr.  Sabre.  And  her  baby,  dead  with 
her." 

"  Found  dead  ?  Found  dead  ?  Effie  ?  And  her  baby  ? 
Found  dead  ?  Oh,  dear  God.  .  .  .  Catch  hold  of  my  arm 
a  minute.  All  right,  let  me  go.  Let  me  go,  I  say.  Can't 
you?  Found  dead?  What  d' you  mean,  found  dead?" 

"  Well,  sir,  that 's  rather  for  the  coroner  to  say,  sir. 
There  's  to  be  an  inquest  to-morrow.  That 's  what  you  're 
wanted  for." 

"  Inquest?  Inquest?  "  Sabre's  speech  was  thick.  He 
knew  it  was  thick.  His  tongue  felt  enormously  too  big 
for  his  mouth.  He  could  not  control  it  properly.  He 
felt  that  all  his  limbs  and  members  were  swollen  and 
ponderous  and  out  of  his  control.  "Inquest?  Found 
dead  ?  Inquest  ?  Found  dead  ?  Goo'  God,  can't  you 
tell  me  something?  You  come  up  to  me  in  the  street, 
and  all  the  place  going  round  and  round,  and  you  say  to 
me,  '  Found  dead.'  Can't  you  say  anything  except 
4  Found  dead '  ?  Can't  you  tell  me  what  you  mean, 
found  dead  ?  Eh  ?  Can't  you  ?  " 

The  man  said,  "  Now  look  here,  sir.  I  say  that 's  for 
the  coroner.  Least  said  best.  And  least  you  say  best, 
sir,  if  you  understand  me.  Looks  as  if  the  young  woman 
took  poison.  That 's  all  I  can  say.  Looks  as  if  she  took 
poison.  Oxalic  acid." 

"Oxalic  acid!" 

"  Now,  see  here,  sir.  You  've  no  call  to  say  anything 
to  me  and  I  've  no  call  to  say  more  to  you  than  I  've  told 
you.  Is  that  your  cab,  sir?  Because  if  so  —  " 

They  went  to  the  cab. 


IF   WINTER   COMES  367 


II 

One  of  two  questions  is  commonly  the  first  words 
articulated  by  one  knocked  senseless  in  a  disaster.  Re 
covering  consciousness,  or  recovering  his  scattered  wits, 
"  What 's  happened?  "  he  asks;  or  "  Where  am  I?  "  In 
the  first  shock  he  has  not  known  he  was  hurt.  He  re 
covers  his  senses.  He  then  is  aware  of  himself  man 
gled,  maimed,  delivered  to  the  torturers. 

In  that  day  and  through  the  night  Sabre  was  numb 
to  coherent  thought,  numb  to  any  realisation  of  the 
meaning  to  himself  of  this  that  had  befallen  him.  The 
roof  had  crashed  in  upon  him;  but  he  lay  stunned.  As 
one  pinned  beneath  scaffolding  knows  not  his  agony  till 
the  beams  are  being  lifted  from  him,  so  stupefaction  in 
hibited  his  senses  until,  on  the  morrow,  he  was  dug  down 
to  in  the  coroner's  court  and  there  awakened. 

He  could  not  think.  Through  the  day  and  through  the 
night  his  mind  groped  with  outstretched  arms  as  one 
groping  in  a  dark  room,  or  as  a  blind  man  tapping  with 
a  stick.  He  could  not  think.  He  could  attend  to  things ; 
he  could  notice  things;  he  could  perform  necessary  ac 
tions;  but  "Erne  is  dead."  "  Effie  has  killed  herself." 
"  Effie  has  killed  herself  and  her  child  —  now  what?" 
In  pursuit  of  these  his  mind  could  only  grope  with  out 
stretched  hands;  thes*e,  in  the  dark  room  of  his  calamity, 
eluded  his  mind.  He  groped  and  stumbled  after  them. 
They  stole  and  slipped  away. 

In  the  train  going  down  to  Tidborough  the  man  who 
had  accosted  him  permitted  himself  to  be  more  communi 
cative.  A  policeman,  observing  lights  burning  in  the 
house  at  midday  on  Sunday,  had  knocked,  and  getting 
no  answer  had  gone  in.  He  had  found  the  young  woman 
dead  on  her  bed,  the  baby  dead  beside  her.  A  tumbler 


368  IF    WINTER    COMES 

was  on  a  small  table  and  a  bottle  of  oxalic  acid,  "  salts  of 
lemon,  as  they  call  it,"  said  the  man. 

Sabre  stared  out  of  the  window.  "  Effie  has  killed 
herself.  Effie  has  killed  herself  and  her  baby."  No,  he 
could  not  fasten  upon  it.  "  Effie  has  killed  herself." 
That  was  what  this  man  was  telling  him.  It  circled  and 
spun  away  from  him  as  from  the  rushing  train  the  fields 
circled  and  spun  before  his  vision. 

He  was  able  to  attend  to  things  and  to  do  things.  At 
Tidborough  he  took  a  cab  and  drove  home,  and  dismiss 
ing  it  at  the  gate  was  able  to  give  normal  attention  to 
the  requirements  of  the  morrow  and  instruct  the  man  to 
come  out  for  him  at  half -past  eleven;  the  inquest  was  at 
twelve. 

He  was  able  to  notice  things.  For  years  turning  the 
handle  and  entering  this  house  had  been  like  entering  an 
empty  habitation.  It  struck  cold  now.  It  was  like  en 
tering  a  tomb.  He  went  into  the  morning  room.  No  one 
was  there.  He  went  into  the  kitchen.  No  one  was  there. 
He  stood  still  and  tried  to  think.  Of  course  no  one  was 
here.  Effie  had  killed  herself.  He  climbed  to  his  room, 
still  awkward  on  stairs  with  his  leg  and  stick,  and  went  in 
and  stood  before  his  books  and  stared  at  them.  He  was 
still  staring  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  had  grown 
dusk  since  he  first  entered  and  stared.  Effie  had  killed 
herself.  .  .  .  He  went  out  and  along  the  passage  to  her 
room  and  entered  and  stared  upon  the  bed.  Effie  had 
been  found  dead.  This  was  where  they  had  found  her 
—  dead.  No,  it  was  gone ;  he  could  not  get  hold  of  it. 
He  turned  and  stared  about  the  room.  Things  seemed 
to  have  been  taken  out  of  the  room.  The  man  had  said 
something  about  a  glass  and  a  bottle.  But  there  was  no 
glass  or  bottle  here.  They  had  taken  things  out  of  the 
room.  And  they  had  taken  Effie  out  of  the  room  — 
picked  up  Effie  and  carried  her  out  like  a  —  an  orgasm 


IF    WINTER    COMES  369 

of  terrible  emotion  surged  enormously  within  him;  a 
bursting  thing  was  in  his  throat  —  No,  it  was  gone. 
What  phenomenon  had  suddenly  possessed  him?  What 
was  the  matter?  Effie  had  killed  herself.  No,  he  could 
not  get  hold  of  it.  He  turned  away  and  began  to  wander 
from  room  to  room.  In  some  he  lit  lights  because  you 
naturally  lit  lights  when  it  was  dark.  All  night  he  wan 
dered  from  room  to  room,  rarely  sitting  down.  All 
night  his  mind  groped  with  outstretched  hands  for  that 
which  all  night  eluded  it. 

Ill 

In  the  morning,  in  the  mortuary  adjoining  the  cor 
oner's  court,  his  mind  suddenly  and  with  shock  most  ter 
rible  made  contact  with  the  calamity  it  had  pursued. 

In  the  mortuary.  .  .  . 

When  he  arrived  and  alighted  from  his  cab  he  found 
a  small  crowd  of  persons  assembled  about  the  yard  of  the 
court.  Some  one  said,  "  There  he  is !  "  Some  one  said, 
'That's  him!"  A  kind  of  threatening  murmur  went 
up  from  the  people.  A  general  movement  was  made 
towards  him.  What  was  the  matter?  What  were  they 
looking  at?  They  stood  in  his  way.  He  seemed  to  be 
wedged  among  a  mass  of  dark  and  rather  beastly  faces 
breathing  close  to  his  own.  He  could  not  get  on.  He 
was  being  pushed.  He  was  caused  to  stagger.  He  said, 
"  Look  out,  I  've  got  a  game  leg."  That  threatening 
sort  of  murmur  arose  more  loudly  in  answer  to  his 
words.  Some  one  somewhere  threw  a  piece  of  orange 
peel  at  some  one.  It  almost  hit  his  face.  What  was  up  ? 
What  were  they  all  doing  ? 

A  policeman  and  the  coroner's  officer  carne  shouldering 
through  the  press  and  helped  him  towards  the  court.  He 
thought  it  was  rather  decent  of  them. 


370  IF    WINTER    COMES 

The  policeman  said,  "  You  'd  better  get  inside. 
They  're  a  bit  rough." 

At  the  door  of  the  court  Sabre  looked  across  to  where 
on  the  other  side  of  the  yard  some  men  were  shuffling 
out  of  a  detached  building.  The  coroner's  officer  said, 
"  Jury.  They  've  been  viewing  the  corpse." 

"  Corpse !  "  The  rough  word  stabbed  through  his 
numbness.  He  thought,  "  Corpse!  Viewing  the  corpse! 
Obscene  and  horrible  phrase !  Corpse !  Erne !  "  He 
made  a  movement  in  that  direction. 

The  man  said,  "  Yes,  perhaps  you  'd  better." 

They  took  him  across  and  into  the  detached  building. 

He  was  against  a  glass  screen,  misty  with  breaths  of 
those  who  had  stared  and  peered  through  it.  The  po 
liceman  wiped  his  sleeve  across  the  glass,  i'  There  you 
are." 

Ah,  .  .  .  !  Now,  suddenly  and  with  shock  most 
terrible,  his  mind  made  contact  with  that  which  it  had 
pursued.  It  had  groped  as  in  a  dark  room  with  out 
stretched  hands.  Now,  suddenly  and  with  shock  most 
terrible,  it  was  as  if  those  groping  hands  had  touched  in 
the  darkness  a  face. 

Ah,  insupportable !  This  was  Effie.  This  was  Bright 
Effie.  This  was  that  jolly  little  Effie  of  the  old,  million- 
year-old  days.  This !  This ! 

She  lay  on  a  slab  inclined  towards  the  glass.  She  was 
swathed  about  in  cerements.  Only  her  face  was  visible. 
Within  the  hollow  of  her  arm  reposed  a  little  shape,  all 
swathed.  She  had  brought  it  into  the  world.  She  had 
removed  it  from  the  world  that  would  have  nothing  of  it. 
She  had  brought  a  thousand  smiles  into  the  world,  but 
she  had  given  offence  to  the  world  and  the  offended  world 
liad  thrown  back  her  smiles  and  she  now  had  expressed 
her  contrition  to  the  world.  This  was  her  contrition  that 
.she  lay  here  for  men  to  breathe  upon  the  glass,  and  stare, 


IF   WINTER    COMES  371 

and  rub  away  the  dimness  with  their  sleeves,  and  breathe,, 
and  stare  again. 

Oh,  insupportable  calamity !  Oh,  tragedy  beyond  sup 
port!  He  thought  of  her  as  oft  and  again  he  had  seen 
her,  —  those  laughing  lips,  those  shining  eyes.  He 
thought  of  her  alone  when  he  had  left  her,  planning  and 
preparing  this  frightful  dissolution  of  her  body  and  her 
soul.  He  thought  of  her  in  the  stupendous  moment 
while  the  glass  paused  at  her  lips.  He  thought  of  her  in 
torment  of  inward  fire  by  that  which  had  blistered  her 
poor  lips. 

A  very  terrible  groan  was  broken  out  of  him. 

They  took  him  along. 

IV 

The  court  was  crammed.  In  two  thirds  of  its  space 
were  crowded  benches.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  room 
was  a  dais,  a  schoolmaster's  desk.  Flanking  it  on  one 
hand  were  forms  occupied  by  the  men  Sabre  had  seen 
shuffling  out  of  the  mortuary.  On  the  other  hand  a  sec 
ond  dais  stood.  Facing  the  central  dais  was  a  long 
table  at  which  men  were  seated  on  the  side  looking 
towards  the  dais.  Two  men  sat  also  at  the  head  of  this 
table,  facing  the  jury.  As  Sabre  entered  they  were  in 
deep  conversation  with  a  stunted,  hunchbacked  man  who 
sat  next  them  at  the  corner. 

Every  face  in  the  room  turned  towards  the  door  as 
Sabre  entered.  They  might  have  belonged  to  a  single 
body  and  they  appeared  to  have  a  single  expression  and 
a  single  thought :  a  dark  and  forbidding  expression  and 
a  thought  dark  and  hostile.  There  was  again  that  mur 
mur  that  had  greeted  him  when  he  stepped  from  the  cab. 
At  the  sight  of  him  one  of  the  two  men  at  the  head  of 
the  table  started  to  his  feet.  A  very  big  man,  and  with  a 


372  IF    WINTER    COMES 

very  big  and  massive  face  and  terrific  eyes  who  started 
up  and  raised  clenched  fists  and  had  his  jaws  working. 
Old  Bright.  His  companion  at  the  head  of  the  table 
restrained  him  and  drew  him  down  again.  A  tall,  spare, 
dark  man  with  a  thin  mouth  in  a  deeply  lined  face,  — 
Twyning.  The  hunchbacked  man  beside  them  twisted 
about  in  his  chair  and  stared  long  and  narrowly  at  Sabre, 
a  very  faint  smile  playing  about  his  mouth;  a  rather 
hungry  sort  of  smile,  as  though  he  anticipated  a  bit  of  a 
game  out  of  Sabre. 

They  led  Sabre  to  a  seat  on  the  front  of  the  benches. 


From  a  door  behind  the  central  dais  a  large,  stout  man 
entered  and  took  his  seat.  Whispers  about  the  court 
said,  "  Coroner."  Some  one  bawled  "  Silence." 

The  coroner  fiddled  with  some  papers,  put  pince-nez 
on  his  nose  and  stared  about  the  court.  He  had  a  big, 
flat  face.  He  stared  about.  "  Is  the  witness  Sabre  in 
attendance  ?  " 

The  coroner's  officer  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 

Some  one  jogged  Sabre.     He  stood  up. 

The  coroner  looked  at  him.  "  Are  you  legally  repre 
sented?" 

Sabre's  mind  played  him  the  trick  of  an  astoundingly 
clear  recollection  of  the  officer  at  the  recruiting  station 
who  had  asked  him,  and  at  whom  he  had  wondered, 
"  Any  complaints  ?  "  He  wondered  now.  He  said, 
"  Represented  ?  No.  Why  should  I  be  represented  ?  " 

The  coroner  turned  to  examine  some  papers.  "  That 
you  may  perhaps  discover,"  he  remarked  drily. 

The  court  tittered.  The  hunchbacked  man,  little  more 
than  whose  huge  head  appeared  above  the  table,  laughed 
out  loud  and  rubbed  his  hands  between  his  knees  and 


IF   WINTER   COMES  373 

made  a  remark  to  Twyning.  He  seemed  pleased  that 
Sabre  was  not  legally  represented. 

A  man  seated  not  far  from  the  hunchback  rose  and 
bowed  and  said,  "  I  am  watching  the  interests  of  Mrs. 
Sabre." 

Sabre  started.     Mrs.  Sabre!     Mabel! 

The  hunchback  sprang  to  his  feet  and  jerked  a  bow. 
"  I  represent  Mr.  Bright,  the  father  of  the  deceased." 

The  coroner  bowed  to  each.  The  hunchback  and  the 
solicitor  representing  the  interests  of  Mrs.  Sabre  leaned 
back  in  their  chairs  and  exchanged  whispers  behind  the 
men  seated  between  them. 

The  jury  shuffled  up  from  their  seats  and  were  sworn 
in  and  shuffled  back  again.  .  .  .  The  coroner  was  speak 
ing.  "...  and  you  will  hear  the  evidence  of  the  wit 
nesses  who  will  be  brought  before  you  .  .  .  and  I  pro 
pose  to  take  first  the  case  of  the  deceased  child  .  .  . 
two  deaths  .  .  .  and  it  will  be  found  more  convenient 
to  dispose  first  of  the  case  of  the  child.  .  .  .  First  wit 
ness!" 


CHAPTER  V 


HAPGOOD  said: 

"  Did  I  say  to  you  last  time,  after  that  Brighton  busi 
ness,  that  the  man  had  crashed,  that  the  roof  had  fallen 
in  on  him?  Did  I  say  that?  May  I  never  again  use 
superlatives  till  I  Ve  turned  over  the  page  to  make  sure 
they  were  n't  comparatives.  Eh,  man,  sitting  on  his  bed 
there  at  Brighton  and  gibbering  at  me,  Sabre  was  a  whole 
man,  a  sane  man;  he  was  a  fortunate  and  happy  man, 
compared  with  this  that  I  saw  come  at  him  down  at 
Tidborough  yesterday. 

"  I  Ve  told  you  that  chap  that  came  up  to  him  outside 
the  Law  Courts  evidently  told  him  the  girl  had  killed 
herself  and  that  he  was  wanted  for  the  inquest.  Next 
day  I  went  down,  knowing  nothing  about  it,  of  course. 
I  hit  up  Tidborough  about  twelve.  No  train  out  to 
Penny  Green  for  an  hour,  so  I  went  to  take  a  fly.  Old 
chap  I  went  to  charter,  when  he  heard  it  was  Sabre's 
place  I  was  looking  for,  told  me  Sabre  was  at  this  inquest ; 
said  he  'd  driven  him  in  to  it.  And  told  me  what  inquest. 
Inquest!  You  can  guess  how  I  felt.  It  was  the  first 
I  'd  heard  about  it.  Hopped  into  the  cab  and  drove 
down  to  it. 

"  By  Jove,  old  man  ...  By  Jove,  old  man,  how  I  'm 
ever  going  to  tell  you.  That  poor  chap  in  there  baited  by 
those  fiends.  .  .  .  By  Jove  .  .  .  By  Jove  .  .  .  You 
know,  old  man,  I  Ve  told  you  before,  I  'm  not  the  sort  of 


IF   WINTER   COMES  375 

chap  that  weeps  he  knows  not  why;  I  never  nursed  a 
tame  gazelle  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  can  sit  through 
a  play  thinking  about  my  supper  while  my  wife  ruins  her 
dress  and  my  trousers  crying  over  them  —  but  this  bus 
iness,  old  Sabre  up  in  that  witness  box  with  his  face  in  a 
knot  and  stammering  out '  Look  here  — .  Look  here  — ' ; 
that  was  absolutely  all  he  ever  said;  he  never  could  get 
any  farther  —  old  Sabre  going  through  that,  and  the 
solicitor  tearing  the  inside  out  of  him  and  throwing  it  in 
his  face,  and  that  treble-dyed  Iscariot  Twyning  prompt 
ing  the  solicitor  and  egging  him  on,  with  his  beastly 
spittle  running  like  venom  out  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
—  I  tell  you  my  eyes  felt  like  two  boiled  gooseberries  in 
my  head:  boiled  red  hot;  and  a  red-hot  potato  stuck 
in  my  throat,  stuck  tight.  I  tell  you  .  .  . 

"  When  I  crept  into  that  infernal  court,  that  infernal 
torture  chamber,  they  were  just  finishing  the  case  of  the 
child.  This  solicitor  chap  —  chap  with  a  humped  back 
and  a  head  as  big  as  a  house  —  was  just  finishing  fawn 
ing  round  a  doctor  man  in  the  box,  putting  it  up  to  him 
that  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  deliberate  suffocation 
of  the  baby.  Oxalic  acid  poisoning  —  was  it  not  the  case 
that  the  girl  would  have  died  in  great  agony?  Writhed 
on  the  bed  ?  Might  easily  have  overlaid  the  child  ?  The 
doctor  had  seen  the  position  in  which  she  was  found 
lying  in  regard  to  the  child  —  would  he  not  tell  the  jury 
that  she  almost  certainly  rolled  on  to  the  child  while  it 
slept  —  that  sort  of  rather  painful  stuff.  Doctor  chap 
rather  jibbed  a  bit  at  being  rushed,  but  humpback  kept 
him  to  it  devilish  cleverly  and  the  verdict  was  as  good  as 
given.  The  doc.  was  just  going  out  of  the  box  when 
humpo  called  him  back.  '  One  moment  more,  Doctor, 
if  you  please.  Can  you  tell  me,  if  you  please,  approxi 
mately  the  age  of  the  child  —  approximately,  but  as  near 
as  you  possibly  can,  Doctor?  ' 


376  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  The  doctor  said  about  five  months  —  four  to  five 
months. 

'  Five  months,'  says  Humpo,  mouthing  it.  '  Five 
months.'  He  turned  deliberately  round  and  looked  di 
rectly  at  Sabre,  sitting  sort  of  huddled  up  on  the  front 
bench.  '  Five  months.  We  may  take  it,  then,  the  child 
was  born  in  December  last.  In  December  last.'  Still 
with  his  back  to  the  witness  and  staring  at  Sabre,  you 
understand,  and  the  jury  all  staring  with  him  and  people 
standing  up  in  the  court  to  see  what  the  devil  he  was 
looking  at.  '  We  may  take  that,  may  we,  Doctor  ? '  He 
was  watching  Sabre  with  a  sort  of  half  smile.  The  doc 
tor  said  he  might  take  it.  The  chap  snapped  up  his  face 
with  a  jerk  and  turned  round.  '  Thank  you,  Doctor. 
That  will  do.'  And  he  sat  down.  If  ever  I  saw  a  chap 
playing  a  fish  and  suddenly  strike  and  hook  it,  I  saw  it 
then,  when  he  smiled  towards  Sabre  and  then  snapped  up 
his  face  and  plumped  down.  And  the  jury  saw  it.  He  'd 
got  'em  fixed  from  that  moment.  Fixed.  Oh,  he  was 
clever  —  clever,  my  word ! 

"  That  ended  that.  The  coroner  rumbled  out  a  bit  of 
a  summary,  practically  told  the  jury  what  to  say,  re 
minded  them,  if  they  had  any  lingering  doubts,  that  the 
quality  of  mercy  was  not  strained  —  him  showing  before 
the  morning  was  out  that  he  knew  about  as  much  about 
mercy  as  I  know  about  Arabic  —  and  the  jury  without 
leaving  the  box  brought  in  that  the  child  had  died  of 
suffocation  due  to  misadventure. 

"The  court  drew  a  long  breath;  you  could  hear  it. 
Everybody  settled  himself  down  nice  and  comfortably. 
The  curtain-raiser  was  over,  and  very  nice  too;  now  for 
the  drama. 

"  They  got  it." 


IF    WINTER    COMES  377 

II 

"  Look  here,  get  the  hang  of  the  thing.  Get  a  bearing 
on  some  of  these  people.  There  was  the  coroner  getting 
off  his  preamble — flavouring  it  with  plenty  of  '  dis- 
tressings  '  and  '  painfuls  '  and  '  father  of  the  deceased 
well  known  to  and  respected  by  many  of  us-es.'  Great 
big  pudding  of  a  chap,  the  coroner.  Sat  there  impassive 
like  a  flabby  old  Buddha.  Face  like  a  three-parts  de 
flated  football.  Looked  as  if  he  'd  been  poured  on  to 
his  seat  out  of  a  jug  and  jellified  there.  There  was  old 
Bright,  the  girl's  father,  smouldering  like  inside  the  door 
of  a  banked-up  furnace;  smouldering  like  if  you  touched 
him  he  'd  burst  out  into  roaring  flame  and  sparks.  There 
was  Mr.  Iscariot  Twyning  with  his  face  like  a  stab  —  in 
the  back  —  and  his  mouth  on  his  face  like  a  scar.  There 
was  this  solicitor  chap  next  him,  with  his  hump,  with  his 
hair  like  a  mane,  and  a  head  like  a  house,  and  a  mouth  like 
a  cave.  He  'd  a  great  big  red  tongue,  about  a  yard  long, 
like  a  retriever's,  and  a  great  long  forefinger  with  about 
five  joints  in  it  that  he  waggled  when  he  was  cross- 
examining  and  shot  out  when  he  was  incriminating  like 
the  front  nine  inches  of  a  snake. 

"  That  chap !  When  he  was  in  the  full  cry  and  ecstasy 
of  his  hunt  after  Sabre,  the  perspiration  streamed  down 
his  face  like  running  oil,  and  he  'd  flap  his  great  red 
tongue  around  his  jaws  and  mop  his  streaming  face  and 
chuck  away  his  streaming  mane ;  and  all  the  time  he  'd 
be  stooping  down  to  Twyning,  and  while  he  was  stooping 
and  Twyning  prompting  him  with  the  venom  pricking 
and  bursting  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  all  the  time 
he  was  stooping  this  chap  would  leave  that  great  fore 
finger  waggling  away  at  Sabre,  and  Sabre  clutching  the 
box,  and  his  face  in  a  knot,  and  his  throat  in  a  lump  and 
choking  out,  '  Look  here  — .  Look  here  —  ' 


378  IF   WINTER    COMES 

"  I  tell  you,  old  man  ...  I  tell  you  .  .  . 

"  Sabre,  when  they  started  to  get  at  it,  was  sitting  on 
the  front  bench  braced  up  forwards  and  staring  towards 
what  he  was  hearing  like  a  man  watching  his  brother 
balancing  across  a  narrow  plank  stretched  over  a  crater. 
He  had  his  hands  on  the  crook  of  his  old  stick  and  he  was 
working  at  the  crook  as  if  he  was  trying  to  tear  it  off. 
I  wonder  he  did  n't,  the  way  he  was  straining  at  it.  And 
every  now  and  then  while  Humpo  was  leading  on  the 
witnesses,  and  when  Sabre  saw  what  they  were  putting 
up  against  him,  he  'd  half  start  to  his  feet  and  open  his 
mouth  and  once  or  twice  let  fly  that  frightful  '  Look 
here  — '  of  his;  and  old  Buddha  would  give  him,  'Be 
silent,  sir ! '  and  he  Jd  drop  back  like  a  man  with  a  hit  in 
the  face  and  sit  there  swallowing  and  press  his  throat. 

"  I  tell  you  ... 

"  I  was  standing  right  across  the  court  at  right  angles 
to  him.  I  was  wedged  tight.  Scarcely  breathe,  let 
alone  move.  I  wrote  on  a  bit  of  paper  to  Sabre  that  I 
was  here  and  let  him  get  up  and  ask  for  me;  and  I 
wrapped  it  round  half-a-crown  and  pushed  it  across  the 
heads  of  the  mob  to  a  police  sergeant.  He  gave  it  to 
Sabre.  Sabre  snatched  the  thing  as  if  he  was  mad  at  it, 
and  read  it,  and  buzzed  it  on  the  floor  and  ground  his 
heel  on  it.  Just  to  show  me,  I  suppose.  Nice!  Poor 
devil,  my  gooseberry  eyes  went  up  about  ten  degrees. 
Bit  later  I  had  another  shot.  I  —  well,  I  '11  come  to  that 
in  a  minute." 

Ill 

"  They  pushed  off  the  case  with  the  obvious  witnesses 
• — police,  doctor,  and  so  on.  Then  the  thing  hardened 
down.  Then  Sabre  saw  what  was  coming  at  him  —  saw 
it  at  a  clap  and  never  had  remotely  dreamt  of  it;  saw  it 
like  a  tiger  coming  down  the  street  to  devour  him;  saw 


IF   WINTER   COMES  379 

it  like  the  lid  of  hell  slowly  slipping  away  before  his  eyes. 
Saw  it !  I  was  watching  him.  He  saw  it ;  and  things  — 
age,  greyness,  lasting  and  immovable  calamity  —  I  don't 
know  what —  frightful  things  —  came  down  on  his 'face 
like  the  dust  of  ashes  settling  on  a  polished  surface. 

"  You  see,  what  this  Humpo  fiend  was  laying  out  for 
was,  first  that  Sabre  was  the  father  of  the  girl's  child, 
second  that  he  'd  deliberately  put  the  poison  in  her  way, 
and  brutally  told  her  he  was  done  with  her,  and  gone  off 
and  left  her  so  that  she  should  do  what  she  had  done  and 
he  be  rid  of  her.  Yes.  Yes,  old  man.  And  he  'd  got  a 
case !  By  the  living  Jingo,  he  'd  got  such  a  case  as  a 
Crown  prosecutor  only  dreams  about  after  a  good  dinner 
and  three  parts  of  a  bottle  of  port.  There  was  n't  a  thing, 
there  was  n't  an  action  or  a  deed  or  a  thought  that  Sabre 
had  done  for  months  and  months  past  but  bricked  him 
in  like  bricking  a  man  into  a  wall,  but  tied  him  down  like 
tying  a  man  in  a  chair  with  four  fathoms  of  rope.  By 
the  living  Jingo,  there  was  n't  a  thing. 

"  Listen.  Just  listen  and  see  for  yourself.  Worked 
off  the  police  evidence  and  the  doctor,  d'  you  see?  Then 
— '  Mr.  Bright ! '  Old  man  comes  up  into  the  box. 
Stands  there  massive,  bowed  with  grief,  chest  heaving, 
voice  coming  out  of  it  like  an  organ  in  the  Dead  March. 
Stands  there  like  Lear  over  the  body  of  Cordelia.  Stands 
there  like  the  father  of  Virginia  thinking  of  Appius 
Claudius. 

"  Like  this,  his  evidence  went :  Was  father  of  the  de 
ceased  woman  (as  they  called  her).  Was  employed  as 
foreman  at  Fortune,  East  and  Sabre's.  Had  seen  the 
body  and  identified  it.  So  on,  so  on. 

"  Then  Humpo  gets  on  to  him.  Was  his  daughter  the 
sort  of  girl  to  meditate  taking  her  life?  —  'Never! 
Never ! '  Great  rending  cry  that  went  down  to  your 
marrow. 


380  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  Touching  the  trouble  that  befell  her.  the  birth  of  her 
child  —  had  she  ever  betrayed  signs  of  loose  character 
while  living  beneath  his  roof?  —  'Never!  Never!' 

"  How  came  she  first  to  leave  his  house  ?  Was  any 
particular  individual  instrumental  in  obtaining  for  her 
work  which  first  took  her  from  beneath  his  roof?  — 
'  There !  There ! '  Clenched  fist  and  half  his  body  over 
the  box  towards  Sabre. 

"  '  Look  here ! '  bursts  out  old  Sabre.     '  Look  here  — ! ' 

'  They  shut  him  up. 

"'Answer  the  question,  please,  Mr.  Bright.'-- '  Mr. 
Sabre  led  to  her  first  going  from  me.  Mr.  Sabre ! ' 

"  Had  this  Mr.  Sabre  first  approached  him  in  the  matter 
or  had  he  solicited  Mr.  Sabre's  help?  —  'He  came  to 
me !  He  came  to  me !  Without  rhyme,  or  reason,  or 
cause,  or  need,  or  hint,  or  suggestion  he  came  to  me ! ' 

"  Was  the  situation  thus  obtained  for  the  girl  nearer 
her  father's  house  or  nearer  Mr.  Sabre's  ?  — '  Not  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  not  ten  minutes,  from  Mr.  Sabre's 
house.' 

"  Had  the  witness  any  knowledge  as  to  whether  this 
man  Sabre  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  place  of  the 
girl's  situation?  —  'Constantly,  constantly,  night  after 
night  he  was  there ! ' 

*' '  Was  he,  indeed  ?  '  says  Humpo,  mightily  interested. 
'Was  he,  indeed?  There  were  perhaps  great  friends  of 
his  own  standing  there,  one  or  two  men  chums,  no 
doubt  ?  '  —  '  No  one !  No  one ! '  cries  the  old  man.  '  No 
one  but  an  old  invalid  lady,  nigh  bedridden,  past  seventy, 
and  my  daughter,  my  daughter,  my  Effie.' 

"  That  was  all  very  well,  all  very  well,  says  Humpo. 
Mr.  Bright's  word  was  of  course  accepted,  but  had  the 
witness  any  outside  proof  of  the  frequency  of  these  visits 
to  this  bedridden  old  lady  old  enough  to  be  the  man 
Sabre's  grandmother?  Had  the  witness  recently  been 


IF    WINTER    COMES  381 

shown  a  diary  kept  by  Mr.  Twyning  at  that  period?  — 
'Yes!  Yes!' 

"  And  it  contained  frequent  reference  to  Sabre's  men 
tion  in  the  office  of  these  visits  ?  —  '  Yes !  Yes ! ' 

"  Did  one  entry  reveal  the  fact  that  on  one  occasion 
this  Sabre  spent  an  entire  night  there? 

"  '  Look  here  —  '  bursts  out  old  Sabre.    '  Look  here  — ' 

"  Can't  get  any  farther.  Buddha  on  the  throne  shuts 
him  up  if  he  could  have  got  any  farther.  '  Yes,'  groans 
old  Bright  out  of  his  heaving  chest.  'Yes.  A  night 
there.' 

"  And  on  the  very  next  day,  the  very  next  day,  did  this 
man  Sabre  rush  off  and  enlist?  —  'Yes.  Yes.' 

"  Viewed  in  light  of  the  subsequent  events,  did  that 
sudden  burst  of  patriotism  bear  any  particular  interpre 
tation? —  '  Running  away  from  it/  heaves  the  old  man. 
'  Running  away  from  it.' 

"  '  Look  here  —  '  from  Sabre  again.  '  Look  here  —  ' 
Same  result. 

"  So  this  Humpo  chap  went  on,  piling  it  up  from  old 
Bright  like  that,  old  man;  and  all  the  time  getting  deeper 
and  getting  worse,  of  course.  Sabre  getting  the  girl 
into  his  own  house  after  the  old  lady's  death  removes  the 
girl  from  the  neighbourhood;  curious  suddenness  of  the 
girl's  dismissal  during  Sabre's  leave;  girl  going  straight 
to  Sabre  immediately  able  to  walk  after  birth  of  child, 
and  so  on.  Blacker  and  blacker,  worse  and  worse. 

"  And  then  Humpo  ends,  '  A  final  question,  Mr.  Bright, 
and  I  can  release  you  from  the  painful,  the  pitiable  or 
deal  it  has  been  my  sad  duty  to  inflict  upon  you.  A 
final  question :  *  Have  you  in  your  own  mind  suspicions 
of  the  identity  of  this  unhappy  woman's  betrayer?' 
Old  man  cannot  speak  for  emotion.  Only  nods,  hands  at 
his  breast  like  a  prophet  about  to  tear  his  raiment.  Only 
nods. 


382  IF   WINTER   COMES 

"  '  Do  you  see  him  in  this  court  ?  ' 

"  Old  man  hurls  out  his  arms  towards  Sabre.  Shouts, 
'There!  There  I' 

"  Warm-hearted  and  excellent  Iscariot  leaps  up  and 
leads  him  tottering   from  the  box;   court  seethes   and 
groans  with  emotion;  Humpo  wipes  his  streaming  face, 
Sabre   stammers   out,    '  Look  here  —     Look  here  — ' 
Case  goes  on." 

IV 

"  Next  witness.  Chemist.  Funny  little  chap  with  two 
pairs  of  spectacles,  one  on  his  forehead  and  one  on  his 
nose.  From  Alton.  Remembers  distinctly  sale  of  oxalic 
acid  (produced)  on  Friday  before  the  Saturday  of  the 
girl's  death.  Remembers  distinctly  the  purchaser,  could 
identify  him.  Does  he  see  him  in  court?  Yes,  there  he 
is.  Points  at  Sabre.  Anything  odd  about  purchas 
er's  manner  ?  Could  n't  say  exactly  odd.  Remembered 
he  sat  down  while  making  the  purchase.  Ah,  sat  down, 
did  he?  Was  it  usual  for  customers  to  sit  down  when 
making  a  trifling  purchase?  No,  not  in  his  shop  it 
was  n't  usual.  Ah,  it  struck  him  then  as  peculiar,  this 
sitting  down?  As  if  perhaps  the  purchaser  was  under 
a  strain?  No,  not  for  that  reason  —  customers  didn't 
as  a  rule  sit  in  his  shop,  because  he  did  n't  as  a  rule  have 
a  chair  in  front  of  the  counter  for  them  to  sit  on.  Court 
howls  with  laughter  in  relief  from  tension.  Humpo  says 
sternly,  '  This  is  no  laughing  matter,  sir.  Stand  down, 
sir/  Glares  after  him  as  he  goes  to  his  seat.  Jury 
glares.  Buddha  glares.  General  impression  that  little 
chemist  has  been  trying  to  shield  Sabre. 

"  Next  witness.  Chap  I  'd  seen  serve  the  divorce  pa 
pers  on  Sabre  at  Brighton.  Solicitor's  clerk.  Humpo 
handles  him  very  impressively  —  also  very  carefully.  In 
forms  him  no  need  to  tell  the  court  on  what  business  he 


IF   WINTER    COMES  383 

went  down  to  Sabre's  house  on  the  fatal  Saturday.  '  Suf 
ficient/  says  Humpo,  '  that  it  was  legal  business  of  a 
deeply  grave  nature  implicating  the  deceased  and  the  man 
Sabre  ?  '  Witness  agrees.  Court  nearly  chokes  itself 
whispering  conjectures.  '  And  you  saw  the  deceased  but 
not  the  man  Sabre  ? '  Witness  agrees  again.  Goes  on, 
led  by  Humpo,  to  state  that  he  served  certain  papers  on 
the  deceased.  That  she  looked  noticeably  unhappy, 
frightened,  lonely,  deserted,  when  she  opened  the  door 
to  him.  Had  great  difficulty  in  obtaining  from  her  the 
whereabouts  of  the  man  Sabre.  At  first  refused  to  tell. 
No,  didn't  actually  say  she  had  been  told  not  to  tell; 
but,  yes,  certainly  gave  that  impression.  Extracted  from 
her  at  last  that  he  was  probably  at  Brighton.  Couldn't 
get  anything  more  definite  out  of  her. 

"'Look  here — '  cries  Sabre.  'Look  here — look 
here,  she  did  n't  know ! ' 

"  '  I  am  not  surprised,'  says  Humpo,  '  I  am  not  at  all 
surprised.'  Court  laughs  cynically.  '  You  have  inter 
rupted  us  a  great  deal,'  says  Humpo.  '  It  is  time  we  saw 
if  you  will  be  equally  informative  in  the  witness  box.' 

"  Some  one  bawls,  '  Next  witness.     Mark  Sabre.' 

"  Court  draws  an  enormous  breath  and  gets  itself 
ready  for  butchery  to  make  a  Tidborough  holiday." 


CHAPTER   VI 
I 

HAPGOOD  went  on : 

"  I  'm  telling  you,  old  man,  that  after  the  coroner  had 
done  with  him,  and  after  this  Humpo,  with  his  viprous 
forefinger,  and  his  retriever  tongue,  and  his  perspiration 
streaming  down  his  face,  and  Twyning  tugging  him  down 
by  the  coat  and  putting  him  on  the  trail  afresh  —  after 
the  coroner,  and  after  this  Humpo  like  that,  had  been  on 
to  him  for  a  bit,  Sabre  absolutely  could  n't  speak.  He 
was  like  he  had  a  constriction  in  his  throat.  There  was 
nothing  he  could  say  but  begin  all  his  sentences  with, 
'  Look  here  —  Look  here  -  - ' ;  and  nine  times  out  of 
ten  incapable  of  anything  to  follow  it  up  with. 

"  He  was  distraught.  He  was  speechless.  He  was 
clean  crazed. 

"  At  the  very  beginning,  with  the  coroner,  he  would  n't 
use  the  word  '  the  deceased.'  Insisted  on  keeping  calling 
her  Effie.  Coroner  kept  pulling  him  up  over  it,  and  about 
the  twentieth  time  pulled  him  up  hard. 

"  Poor  chap  threw  out  his  arms  like  he  was  throwing 
the  word  away  and  then  hammered  on  the  ledge.  '  I 
won't  say  deceased.  I  won't  call  her  the  deceased.  Vile 
word.  Horrible  word.  Obscene,  beastly,  hateful  word. 
I  won't  call  her  it.  Why  should  I  call  her  the  deceased  ?  ' 

"  '  Control  yourself,'  says  Buddha.    '  Control  yourself.' 

"  He  only  waved  and  thumped  again.  '  I  won't.  I 
won't.  Why  should  I  call  her  the  deceased?  I  knew 


IF    WINTER    COMES  385 

the  girl.  I  was  fond  of  the  girl.  She  was  my  friend. 
She  was  fond  of  me.  I  did  more  for  her  than  any  one  in 
this  court  —  her  father  or  any  one.  When  she  was  in 
trouble  she  came  to  me  and  I  succoured  her.  She  lived 
in  my  house.  She  cooked  my  meals  for  me.  We  went 
through  it  together.  I  Ve  known  her  for  years.  I  Ve 
liked  her  for  years.  And  now  she  's  dead  and  you  turn 
around  and  tell  me  to  call  her  the  deceased.  Effie.  Effie ! 
Do  you  hear  ?  —  Effie! ' 

"  They  could  n't  stop  him.  He  was  like  a  sick  wolf 
then,  cornered,  and  Buddha  like  a  big,  wary  boarhound 
going  in  at  him  and  jumping  up  on  the  wall  out  of  the 
way  when  he  made  his  dashes  and  then  coming  down  and 
going  in  at  him  again.  But  they  stopped  him  when 
Humpo  got  at  him !  They  wore  him  down  then !  He 
was  like  that  wolf  then  with  a  rope  round  his  neck,  tied 
to  a  post,  and  every  time  he  'd  fly  out  with,  '  Look  here  — 
Look  here  —  '  the  rope  would  catch  him  and  throttle  him 
and  over  he  'd  go  and  Humpo  in  worrying  him  again. 

"  Like  this.  Link  on  link  of  the  chain  against  him 
and  brick  by  brick  of  the  wall  around  him.  Like  this. 

"  '  What  date  did  the  deceased  leave  your  wife  's  em 
ployment  ?  ' 

'  In  March.     In  March  last  year.     Look  here  —  ' 
*  Did  she  leave  of  her  own  wish  or  was  she  dis 
missed?  ' 

"  '  Look  here  — ' 

'  Was  she  dismissed  because  your  wife  suspected  you 
of  relations  with  her  ?  ' 

"'Look  here  —  7 

"  '  Answer  the  question/ 

"  '  Well,  but  look  here  —  ' 

"  '  Answer  the  question,  sir.' 

"'Look  here  —  ' 
'  Very  well,  sir.     Very  well.    Answer  me  this  ques- 


386  IF   WINTER    COMES 

tion  then.     Is  it  the  fact  that  your  wife  has  instituted 
divorce  proceedings  against  you  ?  ' 

"'Look  here  — 

11  Court  surging  with  sensation  at  this  dramatic  dis 
closure.  Humpo  mopping  his  face,  keeping  the  great 
forefinger  going.  Sabre  clutching  the  desk  like  a  man  in 
asthma,  Twyning  tugging  at  Humpo's  coat.  '  Yes,  yes/ 
says  Humpo,  bending  down,  then  launches  at  Sabre 
again. 

'  Is  it  the  fact  that  in  these  proceedings  the  deceased 
woman  is  named  as  corespondent  ?  ' 

"'Look  here—' 

"  '  You  keep  asking  me  to  look  here,  sir,  but  you  tell 
me  nothing.  I  ask  you  plain  questions.  Have  you  noth 
ing  better  than,  "  Look  here  "  ?  Is  it  the  fact  that  these 
papers  were  served  on  you  at  Brighton  on  the  occasion 
of  your  flight  ?  ' 

"'  Flight  —  flight—     Look  here  —  ' 

"'Is  it  the  fact?' 

" '  Yes.  Brighton,  yes.  But,  look  here  —  flight !  flight ! 
Holiday,  I  tell  you.  Holiday.' 

"  '  Holiday ! '  cries  Humpo.  '  Do  you  tell  me  holiday, 
sir  ?  Holiday !  I  thank  you  for  that  word.  We  will  ex 
amine  it  in  a  moment.  This  was  at  Brighton,  then.  The 
business  of  the  witness  whom  we  have  recently  seen  in 
the  box  was  to  serve  the  papers  on  you  and  on  the  de 
ceased.  Now  come  back  a  little,  Let  me  ask  you  to 
carry  back  your  mind  to  the  summer  of  1915  — '  and 
with  his  wagging  forefinger,  and  his  sloshing  tongue,  and 
his  mopping  at  his  face,  and  his  throwing  back  of  his 
mane  as  though  it  were  a  cloak  from  under  which  he 
kept  rushing  in  to  stab  home  another  knife,  he  takes  the 
unhappy  man  through  all  the  stuff  he  had  got  out  of  old 
Bright  —  Sabre's  apparently  uncalled-for  interest  in  the 
girl,  first  getting  her  from  her  father's  house  to  the  neigh- 


IF    WINTER    COMES  387 

bourhood  of  his  own,  then  under  his  own  roof,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  unholy  chain  of  it.  Then  he  has  a  chat  with 
Twyning,  then  mops  himself  dry,  and  then  hurls  in  again. 

"  '  Now,  sir,  this  holiday.  This  pleasant  holiday  by  the 
sea!  Did  you  make  any  preparations  for  it,  any  little 
purchases  ?  ' 

"  '  No.     Purchases  ?    No.    Look  here  —  ' 

"  '  Never  mind  about  "  Look  here,"  sir.  No  purchases  ? 
Did  you  hear  the  evidence  of  the  witness  —  the  Alton 
chemist  who  declared  on  oath  that  you  made  a  purchase 
in  his  shop  on  the  very  day  before  you  started,  a  purchase 
you  have  admitted  ?  Remembering  that,  do  you  still  say 
you  made  no  purchases  for  your  —  holiday  ?  ' 

"  '  Nothing  to  do  with  it.    Nothing  —  ' 

"  '  Nothing  to  do  with  it  ?  Well,  sir,  we  will  accept  that 
for  a  moment.  Do  you  often  go  shopping  in  Alton?  ' 

"  The  poor  beggar  shook  his  head.  No  voice  in  his 
throat. 

"  '  Do  you  shop  there  once  in  a  month,  once  in  six 
months  ? ' 

"  Shook  again. 

"  '  Are  there  chemists  in  the  Garden  House,  in  Tidbor- 
DUgh,  in  Chovensbury  ?  ' 

"  Nods. 

"  '  Are  you  known  in  all  these  places  I  have  men 
tioned?' 

"  Nods. 

"'Are  you  known  in  Alton?' 

"  Shakes. 

"  '  Are  all  these  places  nearer  to  you  than  Alton  ?  ' 

"  Nods. 

"  Humpo's  finger  shoots  out  about  two  yards  long; 
dashes  back  his  mane  with  his  other  hand ;  rushes  in  from 
under  it.  '  Then,  sir,  will  you  tell  the  jury  why,  to  make 
this  purchase  of  oxalic  acid  on  the  day  before  you  leave 


388  IF   WINTER    COMES 

home,  why  you  go  to  a  place  in  which  you  are  unknown 
and  to  a  place  farther  away  from  you  than  three  other 
centres,  one  at  your  very  door  ?  ' 

"  Sabre  sees  like  a  hit  in  the  face  this  new  thing  that 's 
coming  to  him.    Gasps.    Puts  up  his  hand  to  that  choked 
throat  of  his.     Strangles  out,  '  Look  here  —  ' 
'  Answer  the  question,  sir.' 

"  Stammers  out  like  a  chap  croaking.  '  Walk.  Walk. 
Wanted  a  walk.  Wanted  to  get  out.  Wanted  to  get 
away  from  it/ 

"  Back  goes  the  mane  and  in  again  like  a  flash :  '  Ah, 
you  wanted  to  get  out  of  it?  The  house  with  its  inmates 
was  becoming  insupportable  to  you  ?  ' 

"  '  Look  here  —  ' 

"  '  I  am  giving  you  your  own  words,  sir.  Do  you  tell 
us  that,  although  you  were  leaving  —  for  a  holiday  — 
on  the  very  next  day  still,  even  on  the  afternoon  before, 
you  felt  you  must  get  out  of  it  ?  Is  that  right,  sir  ? ' 

"'Look  here  —  ' 

"  '  Very  well.  Let  us  leave  that,  sir.  We  seem  to  be 
compelled  to  leave  a  great  deal,  but  the  jury  will  acquit 
me  of  fault  in  the  matter.  Let  us  come  to  the  purpose  of 
this  oxalic  acid  purchase.  Nothing  to  do  with  your  holi 
day,  you  say.  With  what  then  ?  For  what  purpose  ?  ' 

"  Long  pause.  Frightful  pause.  Hours.  Whole  court 
holding  its  breath.  Pause  like  a  chunk  of  eternity.  Silent 
as  that.  Empty  as  that.  What  the  devil  was  he  thinking 
of?  Had  he  forgotten?  Was  he  awake  now  to  the 
frightful  places  he  kept  getting  into  and  wondering  if 
this  was  another  and  where  exactly  it  lay?  Appalling 
pause.  Dashed  woman  somewhere  in  the  court  goes  off 
into  hysterics  and  dragged  out.  He  did  n't  hear  a  scream 
of  it,  that  poor  baited  chap  in  the  box.  Just  stood  there. 
Grey  as  a  raked-out  fire.  Face  twitching.  Awful.  I 
tell  you,  awful.  Nearly  went  into  hysterics  myself. 


IF   WINTER    COMES  389 

Humpo  slopping  his  tongue  round  his  jaws,  watching 
him  like  a  dog  watching  its  dinner  being  cut  up.  After 
about  two  years,  slaps  in  his  tongue  and  demands, 
'  Come,  sir,  for  what  purpose  did  you  buy  this  oxalic 
acid?' 

"  Sabre  gives  his  first  clear,  calculated  words  since  he 
had  got  up  there.  I  guess  he  had  been  pulling  himself 
together  to  look  for  a  trap.  He  said  very  slowly,  trying 
each  word,  like  a  chap  feeling  along  on  thin  ice;  he  said. 
'  Effie  —  asked  —  me  —  to  —  get  —  it  —  to  —  clean  — * 
my  —  straw  —  hat  —  for  —  me  —  for  —  Brighton/ 

"  That  Humpo !  Very  gently,  very  quietly,  like  a  res 
cuer  pushing  out  a  ladder  to  the  man  on  the  ice,  '  The  de 
ceased  asked  you  to  get  it  to  clean  your  straw  hat  for  you 
for  Brighton.'  And  then  like  a  trap  being  sprung  he 
snapped  and  threw  Sabre  clean  off  the  balance  he  was 
getting.  '  Then  it  was  obtained  for  the  purpose  of  your 
holiday?' 

'  Look  here  — '  All  at  sea  again,  d'  you  see?  And 
the  end  was  quicker  than  nothing.  Twyning  pulls 
Humpo's  coat  and  points  at  Sabre's  hat,  soft  hat,  on  the 
ledge  before  him.  Humpo  nods,  delighted. 

'  And  did  she  carry  out  her  intention,  sir  ?  Did  she 
clean  your  straw  hat  for  you  ?  ' 

"  Nods. 
'  You  don't  appear  to  be  wearing  it  ?  * 

"  Shakes. 

'  Pray,  where,  then,  is  this  straw  hat  to  clean  which 
you  obtained  the  oxalic  acid  ?  Is  it  at  your  house  ?  ' 

"  Shakes. 

'"Not  at  your  house!     Odd.     Where,  then?' 

"  '  Look  here  —  ' 

"'  Where  then?' 

"'Look  here  —  ' 

"  '  Answer  the  question,  sir.    Where  is  this  straw  hat? f 


390  IF   WINTER   COMES 

"  '  Look  here  —  '  Gulps.  '  Look  here  — '  Gulps 
again.  '  Look  here.  I  lost  it  in  the  sea  at  Brighton.' 

"  Humpo  draws  in  his  breath.  Stares  at  him  for  two 
solid  minutes  without  speaking.  Then  say,  like  one 
speaking  to  a  ghost,  *  You  lost  it  in  the  sea  at  Brighton ! 
You  lost  it  in  the  sea  at  Brighton ! '  Has  an  inspiration. 
Inspired  in  hell.  Turns  like  a  flash  to  the  coroner. 
'  I  have  done  with  this  witness,  sir.'  Sits  down.  Plump. 
Court  lets  go  its  breath  like  the  four  winds  round  a 
chimney.  Sabre  staggers  out  of  the  box.  Falls  across 
into  his  seat. 

"  Too  much  for  me,  old  man.  I  bawled  out,  people  in 
front  of  me  nearly  jumping  out  of  their  skins  with  the 
start,  I  bawled  out,  '  Mr.  Coroner,  I  saw  the  witness  at 
Brighton,  and  he  told  me  he  'd  lost  his  hat  in  the  sea.' 

"  Buddha,  like  a  talking  idol  discovering  an  infidel  in 
his  temple,  '  Who  are  you,  sir?  ' 

"  '  I  'm  a  solicitor.     I  'm  Mr.  Sabre's  solicitor.' 

"  Buddha  to  Sabre :  '  Have  you  a  solicitor  in  the 
court,  Sabre  ?  ' 

"'No!  No!  Get  away!  Get  out  of  it!  Get  away 
from  me ! ' 

"  '  You  have  no  standing  in  this  court,  sir/  says  Bud 
dha. 

"  Awful.  Nothing  to  be  done.  Sorry  I  'd  spoken. 
After  all,  telling  me  about  his  hat,  what  did  it  prove? 
Nothing.  If  anything,  easily  could  be  twisted  into  cun 
ning  preparation  of  his  plan  beforehand.  Useless. 
Futile. 

"  Case  went  on.  Presently  Twyning  in  the  box.  Last 
witness  —  put  up  to  screw  down  the  lid  on  Sabre's  coffin, 
to  polish  up  the  argument  before  it  went  to  the  jury. 
Stood  there  with  the  venom  frothing  at  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  stood  there  a  man  straight  out  of  the  loins  of 
Judas  Iscariot,  stood  there  making  his  testimony  more 


IF   WINTER   COMES  391 

damning  a  thousand  times  by  pretending  it  was  being 
dragged  out  of  him,  reluctant  to  give  away  his  business 
companion.  Told  a  positively  damning  story  about  meet 
ing  Sabre  at  the  station  on  his  departure  from  leave  a 
day  after  the  girl  was  sacked.  Noticed  how  strange  his 
manner  was ;  noticed  he  did  n't  like  being  asked  about 
circumstances  of  her  dismissal;  noticed  his  wife  hadn't 
come  to  see  him  off.  Yes,  thought  it  odd.  Sabre  had 
explained  wife  had  a  cold,  but  saw  Mrs.  Sabre  in  Tid- 
borough  very  next  day.  Yes,  thought  the  whole  thing 
funny  because  had  frequently  seen  Sabre  and  the 
girl  together  during  Sabre's  leave.  Any  particular  occa 
sion?  Well,  did  it  really  matter?  Must  he  really  an 
swer?  Yes,  notably  in  the  Cloister  tea  rooms  late  one 
evening.  Well,  yes,  had  thought  their  behavior  odd, 
secretive.  Sabre's  position  in  the  office?  Well,  was  it 
really  necessary  to  go  into  that?  Well,  had  to  admit 
Sabre  was  no  longer  a  member  of  the  firm.  Had  been 
suspended  during  intimacy  with  the  deceased,  now  dis 
missed  consequent  upon  this  grave  development.  Had 
he  ever  had  occasion  in  the  past,  in  earlier  days,  to  remon 
strate  with  Sabre  concerning  attitude  towards  girl  ?  Well, 
scarcely  liked  to  say  so,  hated  to  say  so,  but  certainly 
there  had  been  such  occasions.  Yes,  had  spoken  seriously 
to  Sabre  about  it. 

:c  There  ripped  across  the  court  as  he  said  that,  old 
man,  a  woman's  voice  from  the  back.  '  It 's  a  lie.  It 's 
an  abominable  lie.  And  you  know  it 's  a  lie ! ' 

"  By  Jove,  I  tell  you !  I  nearly  swallowed  my  back 
teeth  with  the  effect  of  the  thing.  Give  you  my  word  I 
thought  for  a  minute  it  was  the  girl  come  to  life  and 
walked  in  out  of  her  coffin.  That  voice !  High  and  clear 
and  fine  and  true  as  an  Angelus  bell  across  a  harvest 
field.  '  It 's  a  lie.  It 's  an  abominable  lie ;  and  you  know 
it's  a  lie!' 


392  IF    WINTER    COMES 

"  Eh  ?  Terrific  ?  I  tell  you  terrific  is  n't  the  word. 
It  was  the  Fairfax  business  at  the  trial  of  King  Charles 
over  again.  It  absolutely  was.  Buddha  nearly  had  a  fit : 
'  Silence !  How  dare  you,  madam !  Turn  out  that 
woman !  Who  is  that  ?  ' 

"  Commotion.  A  woman  pressed  out  from  the  mob 
behind  and  walked  up  the  court  like  a  goddess,  like  Por 
tia,  by  Jove,  like  Euphrosyne.  *  Let  no  one  dare  to  touch 
me,'  she  said.  '  I  am  Lady  Tybar.  Every  one  knows  me 
here.  I  Ve  just  come  in.  Just  heard.  This  shameful 
business.  All  of  you  killing  him  between  you.'  She 
pointed  a  hand  at  Twyning.  *  And  you.  I  tell  you  be 
fore  all  this  court,  and  you  may  take  what  steps  you  like, 
I  tell  you  that  you  are  a  liar,  an  experienced  and  calcu 
lating  liar.'  And  she  went  with  that  to  old  Sabre  and 
stooped  over  him  and  touched  him  with  both  her  hands 
and  said,  '  Marko,  Marko.' 

"  You  know  she  'd  got  that  blooming  court  stiff  and 
cold.  The  suddenness  and  the  decision  and  the  —  the 
arrogance  of  the  thing  took  'em  all  ends  up  and  had  'em 
speechless.  She  was  there  by  Sabre  and  stooping  over 
him,  mothering  him,  before  Buddha  or  any  of  'em  could 
have  found  the  wits  to  say  what  his  own  name  was.  Let 
alone  the  Iscariot. 

"  Matter  of  fact  Sabre  was  the  first  one  to  speak.  He 
threw  up  his  arm  from  where  he  'd  been  covering  his 
face,  just  as  he  'd  thrown  it  up  when  I  called  out,  and 
swung  her  hands  aside  and  called  out,  '  Don't  touch  me. 
Let  me  alone.  Leave  me  alone/ 

"  She  motioned  to  the  man  beside  him,  and  the  chap 
got  up  as  if  her  motion  had  been  Circe's  and  disap 
peared.  Through  the  roof  or  somewhere.  I  don't  know. 
Anyway,  he  vanished.  And  she  took  his  place  and  sat 
down  beside  Sabre  and  poor  old  Sabre  crouched  away 
from  her  as  if  he  was  stung,  and  old  Buddha,  reaching 


IF   WINTER    COMES  395 

out  for  his  dignity,  said,  '  You  may  remain  there,  madam, 
if  you  do  not  interrupt  the  court.' 

"  There  was  n't  much  more  to  interrupt.  Twyning 
had  had  about  as  much  as  he  wanted ;  he  'd  done  what  he 
was  out  to  do,  anyway.  The  case  finished.  The  coroner 
had  a  go  at  the  jury.  They  went  out.  I  suppose  they 
were  gone  ten  minutes.  Shuffled  in  again,  Gave  their 
verdict.  I  was  watching  Sabre.  He  took  down  his  hands 
from  his  face  and  stared  with  all  the  world's  agony  in 
his  face,  straining  himself  forward  to  hear.  Verdict. 
They  found  suicide  while  temporarily  insane  and  added 
their  most  severe  censure  of  the  conduct  of  the  witness 
Sabre.  He  jumped  up  and  flung  out  his  hands.  '  Look 
here  —  Look  here  —  Censure !  Censure !  Cens  — ! ' 

"  Dropped  back  on  his  seat  like  he  was  shot.  Twisted 
himself  up.  Sat  rocking. 

"  Court  cleared  in  less  than  no  time.  Me  left  in  my 
corner.  This  Lady  Tybar.  Sabre,  twisted  up.  Bobby 
or  two.  I  began  to  come  forward.  Sabre  looks  up. 
Looks  round.  Gets  his  hat.  Collects  his  old  stick. 
Starts  to  hobble  out. 

"  This  Lady  Tybar  gets  in  front  of  him,  me  alongside 
of  her  by  then.  '  Marko,  Marko.'  (That  was  what  she 
called  him.)  He  sort  of  pushes  at  her  and  at  me:  '  Let 
me  alone.  Let  me  alone.  Get  right  away  from  me/ 
Hobbles  away  down  the  room. 

"  A  bobby  stops  him.  '  Better  go  this  way,  sir.  Rough 
lot  of  people  out  there.'  Leads  him  to  a  side  door. 

"  We  followed  him  up,  she  and  I.  Door  gave  on  to 
a  lane  running  up  into  the  Penny  Green  road.  She  tried 
at  him  again,  gently,  very  tenderly, '  Marko,  Marko,  dear.' 
Would  have  made  your  heart  squirm.  I  tried  at  him: 
'  Now  then,  old  man.'  Swung  round  on  us.  '  Let  me 
alone.  Get  away.  Get  right  away  from  me ! ' 

"  Followed  him,  the  pair  of  us,  up  to  the  main  road. 


394  IF   WINTER   COMES 

She  tried  again.  I  tried.  He  swung  round  and  faced  us. 
'  Let  me  alone.  Won't  any  one  let  me  alone  ?  Get  right 
away  from  me.  Look  here  —  Look  here.  If  you  want 
to  do  anything  for  me,  get  right  away  from  me  and 
leave  me  alone.  Leave  me  alone.  Do  you  hear  ?  Leave 
me  alone.' 

"  Hobbled  away  out  towards  Penny  Green,  bobbing 
along  on  his  stick  fast  as  he  could  go. 

"  She  said  to  me,  '  Oh,  Oh  — '  and  began  to  cry.  I 
said  I  thought  the  best  thing  was  to  leave  him  for  a  bit 
and  that  I  'd  go  over,  or  she  could,  or  both  of  us,  a  bit 
later.  Clear  we  were  only  driving  him  mad  by  following 
him  now.  There  was  a  cab  came  prowling  by.  I  gave 
the  chap  a  pound  note  and  told  him  to  follow  Sabre.  — 
'  Get  up  just  alongside  and  keep  there/  I  said.  *  He  '11 
likely  get  in.  Get  him  in  and  take  him  up  to  Crawshaws, 
Penny  Green,  and  come  back  to  me  at  the  Royal  Hotel 
and  there  's  another  quid  for  you/ 

"  Old  man,  I  went  along  to  the  Royal  with  this  Lady 
Tybar.  Told  her  who  I  was  and  what  I  knew.  Ordered 
some  tea  there  (which  we  didn't  touch)  and  she  began 
to  talk  to  me.  Talk  to  me  ...  I  tell  you  what  I  thought 
about  that  woman  while  she  talked.  I  thought,  leaving 
out  limelight  beauty,  and  classic  beauty  and  all  the  beauty 
you  can  see  in  a  frame  presented  as  such;  leaving  out 
that,  because  it  was  n't  there,  I  thought  she  was  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  had  ever  seen.  Yes,  and  I  told  my 
wife  so.  That  shows  you!  You  couldn't  say  where  it 
was  or  how  it  was.  You  could  only  say  that  beauty  abode 
in  her  face  as  the  scent  in  the  rose.  It 's  there  and  it 's 
exquisite:  that 's  all  you  can  say.  If  she  'd  been  talking 
to  me  in  the  dark  I  could  have  felt  that  she  was  beauti 
ful. 

"What  did  she  tell  me?  She  talked  about  herself 
and  Sabre.  What  did  she  say?  No,  you  '11  have  to  let 


IF   WINTER   COMES  395 

that  go,  old  man.  It  was  more  what  I  read  into  what 
she  said.  I  '11  keep  it  —  for  a  bit,  anyway. 

"  There  's  else  to  tell  than  that.  That  cabman  I  'd 
got  hold  of  sent  in  awhile  after  to  see  me.  Said  he  'd 
picked  up  Sabre  a  mile  along  and  taken  him  home. 
Stopped  a  bit  to  patch  up  some  harness  or  something  and 
'All  of  a  heap  '  (as  he  expressed  it)  Sabre  had  come 
flying  out  of  the  house  again  into  the  cab  and  told 
him  to  drive  like  hell  and  all  to  the  office  —  to  Fortune, 
East  and  Sabre's.  Said  Sabre  behaved  all  the  way  like 
as  if  he  was  mad  —  shouting  to  him  to  hurry  and  carry 
ing  on  inside  the  cab  so  the  old  man  was  terrified. 

"  I  said,  '  To  the  office !  What  the  devil  now  ? '  I  ran 
in  to  Lady  Tybar  and  we  hurried  round.  We  were  scared 
for  him,  I  tell  you.  And  we  'd  reason  to  be  —  when  we 
got  there  and  found  him." 


CHAPTER    VII 

I 

WHEN  that  cab  which  Hapgood  had  despatched  after 
Sabre  from  the  coroner's  court  overtook  its  quest,  the 
driver  put  himself  abreast  of  the  distracted  figure  furi 
ously  hobbling  along  the  road  and,  his  second  pound  note 
in  view,  began,  in  a  fat  and  comfortable  voice,  a  be 
guiling  monologue  of  "  Keb,  sir?  Keb?  Keb?  Keb, 
sir?" 

Sabre  at  first  gave  no  attention.  Farther  along  he 
once  angrily  waved  his  stick  in  signal  of  dismissal.  About 
a  mile  along  his  disabled  knee,  and  all  his  much  over 
wrought  body  refused  longer  to  be  the  flogged  slave  of 
his  tumultuous  mind.  He  stopped  in  physical  exhaustion 
and  rested  upon  his  stick.  The  cabman  also  stopped  and 
tuned  afresh  his  enticing  and  restful  rhythm :  "  Keb, 
sir?  Keb?  Keb?  Keb,  sir?" 

He  got  in. 

He  did  not  think  to  give  a  direction,  but  the  driver 
had  his  directions;  nor,  when  he  was  set  down  at  his 
house,  to  make  payment;  but  payment  had  been  made. 
The  driver  assisted  him  from  the  cab  and  into  his  door 
—  and  he  needed  assistance  —  and  being  off  his  box  set 
himself  to  the  adjustment  of  a  buckle,  repair  of  which 
he  had  deferred  through  the  day  until  (being  a  man  eco 
nomical  of  effort)  some  other  circumstance  should  ne 
cessitate  his  coming  to  earth. 

Sabre  stumbled  into  his  house  and  pushed  the  door 


IF    WINTER    COMES  397 

behind  him  with  a  resolution  expressive  of  his  desire  to 
shut  away  from  himself  all  creatures  of  the  world  and 
be  alone,  —  be  left  entirely  alone.  By  habit  he  climbed 
the  stairs  to  his  room.  He  collapsed  into  a  chair. 

His  head  was  not  aching;  but  there  throbbed  within 
his  head,  ceaselessly  and  enormously,  a  pulse  that  seemed 
to  shake  him  at  its  every  beat.  It  was  going  knock,  knock, 
knock!  He  began  to  have  the  feeling  that  if  this  fright 
ful  knocking  continued  it  would  beat  its  way  out.  Some 
thing  would  give  way.  Amidst  the  purposeful  reverbera 
tions,  his  mind,  like  one  squeezed  back  in  the  dark  corner 
of  a  lair  of  beasts,  crouched  shaking  and  appalled.  He 
WRS  the  father  of  Effie's  child;  he  was  the  murderer  of 
Effie  and  of  her  child!  He  was  neither;  but  the  crimes 
were  fastened  upon  him  as  ineradicable  pigment  upon 
his  skin.  His  skin  was  white  but  it  was  annealed  black; 
there  was  not  a  glass  of  the  mirrors  of  his  past  actions 
but  showed  it  black  and  reflected  upon  it  hue  that  was 
blacker  yet.  He  was  a  betrayer  and  a  murderer,  and 
every  refutation  that  he  could  produce  turned  to  a  brand 
in  his  hands  and  branded  him  yet  more  deeply.  He 
writhed  in  torment.  For  ever,  in  every  hour  of  every 
day  and  night,  he  would  carry  the  memory  of  that  fierce 
and  sweating  face  pressing  towards  him  across  the  table 
in  that  court.  No !  It  was  another  face  that  passed  be 
fore  that  passionate  countenance  and  stood  like  flame 
before  his  eyes.  Twyning !  Twyning,  Twyning,,  Twyn- 
ing !  The  prompter,  the  goader  of  that  passionate  man's 
passion,  the  instigater  and  instrument  of  this  his  utter 
and  appalling  destruction.  Twyning,  Twyning,  Twyn 
ing!  He  ground  his  teeth  upon  the  name.  He  twisted 
in  his  chair  upon  the  thought.  Twyning,  Twyning, 
Twyning!  Knock,  knock,  knock!  Ah,  that  knocking, 
that  knocking!  Something  was  going  to  give  way  in  a 
minute.  It  must  be  abated.  It  must.  Something  would 


398  IF   WINTER    COMES 

give  way  else.  A  feverish  desire  to  smoke  came  upon 
him.  He  felt  in  his  pockets  for  his  cigarette  case.  He 
had  not  got  it.  He  thought  after  it.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  started  for  Brighton  without  it,  discovered 
there  that  he  had  left  it  behind.  He  started  to  hunt  for 
it.  It  must  be  in  this  room.  It  was  not  to  be  seen  in  the 
room.  Where?  He  remembered  a  previous  occasion  of 
searching  for  it  like  this.  WThen?  Ah,  when  Effie  had 
told  him  she  had  found  it  lying  about  and  had  put  it  — 
of  all  absurd  places  for  a  cigarette  case  —  in  the  back  of 
the  clock.  Ten  to  one  she  had  put  it  there  again  now. 
The  very  last  thing  she  had  done  for  him!  Effie!  He 
went  quickly  to  the  clock  and  opened  it.  Good !  It  was 
there.  He  snatched  it  up.  Something  else  there. 
A  folded  paper.  His  name  pencilled  on  it :  Mr.  Sabre. 

She  had  left  a  message  for  him ! 

She  had  left  a  message  for  him!  That  cigarette  case 
business  had  been  deliberately  done ! 

He  fumbled  the  paper  open.  He  could  not  control 
liis  fingers.  He  fumbled  it  open.  He  began  to  read. 
Tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  Pitiful,  oh,  pitiful.  He  turned 
the  page,  —  knock,  knock,  knock !  The  knocking  sud 
denly  ceased.  He  threw  up  his  hand.  He  gave  a  very 
loud  cry.  A  single  note.  A  note  of  extraordinary  ex 
ultation  :  "  Ha  !  " 

He  crushed  the  paper  between  his  hands.  He  cried 
aloud  :  "  Into  my  hands !  Into  my  hands  thou  hast  de 
livered  him !  " 

He  opened  the  paper  and  read  again,  his  hand  shaking, 
and  now  a  most  terrible  trembling  upon  him. 

Dear  Mr.  Sabre, 

I  wanted  you  to  go  to  Brighton  so  I  could  be  alone  to  do 
what  I  am  just  going  to  do.  I  see  now  it  is  all  impossible, 
and  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before,  but  I  was  so  very  fond 


IF   WINTER    COMES  399 

of  my  little  baby  and  I  never  dreamt  it  would  be  like  this. 
But  you  see  they  won't  let  me  keep  my  little  baby  and  now 
I  have  made  things  too  terrible  for  you.  So  I  see  the  only 
thing  to  do  is  to  take  myself  out  of  it  all  and  take  my  little 
baby  with  me.  Soon  I  shall  explain  things  to  God  and  then  I 
think  it  will  be  quite  all  right.  Dear  Mr.  Sabre,  when  I 
explain  things  to  God,  I  shall  tell  him  how  wonderful  you 
have  been  to  me.  My  heart  is  filled  with  gratitude  to  you. 
I  cannot  express  it;  but  I  shall  tell  God  when  I  explain 
everything  to  him;  and  my  one  hope  is  that  after  I  have 
been  punished  I  shall  be  allowed  to  meet  you  again,  and 
thank  you  —  there,  where  everything  will  be  understood. 

He  turned  over. 

I  feel  I  ought  to  tell  you  now,  before  I  leave  this  world, 
what  I  never  was  able  to  tell  you  or  any  one.  The  father  of 
my  little  baby  was  Harold  Twyning  who  used  to  be  in  your 
office.  We  had  been  secretly  engaged  a  very,  very  long  time 
and  then  he  was  in  an  officers'  training  camp  at  Bournemouth 
where  I  was,  and  I  don't  think  I  quite  understood.  We 
were  going  to  be  married  and  then  he  had  to  go  suddenly, 
and  then  he  was  afraid  to  tell  his  father  and  then  this 
happened  and  he  was  more  afraid.  So  that  was  how  it  all 
was.  I  do  want  you,  please,  to  tell  Harold  that  I  quite  for 
give  him,  only  I  can't  quite  write  to  him.  And  dear  Mr. 
Sabre,  I  do  trust  you  to  be  with  Harold  what  you  have 
always  been  with  me  and  with  everybody  —  gentle,  and 
understanding  things.  And  I  shall  tell  the  Perches,  too, 
about  you,  and  Mr.  Fargus.  Good-by  and  may  God  bless 
and  reward  you  for  ever  and  ever, 

Effie. 

II 

He  shouted  again,  "  Ha !  "  He  cried  again,  "  Into  my 
hands !  Into  my  hands !  " 

He  abandoned  himself  to  a  rather  horrible  ecstasy  of 
hate  and  passion.  His  face  became  rather  horrible  to 


400  IF   WINTER    COMES 

see.  His  face  became  purple  and  black  and  knotted,  and 
the  veins  on  his  forehead  black.  He  cried  aloud,  "  Har 
old  !  Harold !  Twyning !  Twyning !  "  He  rather  hor 
ribly  mimicked  Twyning.  "  Harold  's  such  a  good  boy! 
Harold  's  such  a  good,  Christian,  model  boy !  Harold  's 
never  said  a  bad  word  or  had  a  bad  thought.  Harold  's 
such  a  good  boy."  He  cried  out :  "  Harold  's  such  a 
blackguard !  Harold  's  such  a  blackguard !  A  black 
guard  and  the  son  of  a  vile,  infamous,  lying,  perjured 
blackguard." 

His  passion  and  his  hate  surmounted  his  voice.  He 
choked.  He  picked  up  his  stick  and  went  with  frantic 
striding  hops  to  the  door.  He  cried  aloud,  gritting  his 
teeth  upon  it,  "  I  '11  cram  the  letter  down  his  throat. 
I  '11  cram  the  letter  down  his  throat.  I  '11  take  him  by 
the  neck.  I  '11  bash  him  across  the  face.  And  I  '11  cram 
the  letter  down  his  throat." 

The  cab  driver,  his  labour  upon  the  buckle  finished, 
was  resting  on  his  box  with  the  purposeful  and  luxurious 
rest  of  a  man  who  has  borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the 
day.  Sabre  waved  his  stick  at  him,  and  shouted  to  him, 
"  Fortune's  office  in  Tidborough.  Hard  as  you  can. 
Hard  as  you  can."  He  wrenched  open  the  door  and  got 
in.  In  a  moment,  the  startled  horse  scarcely  put  into 
motion  by  its  startled  driver,  he  put  his  head  and  arm 
from  the  window  and  was  out  on  the  step.  "Stop! 
Stop !  Let  me  out.  I  've  something  to  get." 

He  ran  again  into  the  house  and  bundled  himself  up  the 
stairs  and  into  his  room.  At  his  bureau  he  took  a  drawer 
and  wrenched  it  open  so  that  it  came  out  in  his  hand, 
swung  on  the  sockets  of  its  handle,  and  scattered  its  con 
tents  upon  the  floor.  One  article  fell  heavily.  His  ser 
vice  revolver.  He  grabbed  it  up  and  dropped  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  padding  eagerly  about  after  scattered  car 
tridges.  As  he  searched  his  voice  went  harshly,  "  He  *s 


IF   WINTER    COMES  40! 

hounded  me  to  hell.  At  the  very  gates  of  hell  I  Jve  got 
him,  got  him,  and  I  '11  have  him  by  the  throat  and  hurl 
him  in!"  He  broke  open  the  breech  and  jammed  the 
cartridges  in,  counting  them,  "  One,  two,  three,  four, 
five,  six!"  He  sapped  up  the  breech  and  jammed  the 
revolver  in  his  jacket  pocket.  He  went  scrambling  again 
down  the  stairs,  and  as  he  scrambled  down  he  cried,  "  I  '11 
cram  the  letter  down  his  throat.  I  '11  take  him  by  the 
neck.  I  '11  bash  him  across  the  face.  And  I  '11  cram  the 
letter  down  his  throat.  When  he  's  sprawling,  when  he  's 
looking,  perhaps  I  '11  out  with  my  gun  and  drill  him, 
drill  him  for  the  dog,  the  dog  that  he  is." 

All  the  way  down  as  the  cab  proceeded,  he  alternated 
between  shouted  behests  to  the  driver  to  hurry  and  repe 
tition  of  his  ferocious  intention.  Over  and  over  again; 
gritting  his  teeth  upon  it;  picturing  it;  in  vision  acting  it 
so  that  the  perspiration  streamed  upon  his  body.  "  I  '11 
cram  the  letter  down  his  throat.  I  '11  take  him  by  the 
neck.  I  '11  bash  him  across  the  face,  and  I  '11  cram  the 
letter  down  his  throat."  Over  and  over  again;  visioning 
it;  in  his  mind,  and  with  all  his  muscles  working,  fero 
ciously  performing  it.  He  felt  immensely  well.  He  felt 
enormously  fit.  The  knocking  was  done  in  his  brain. 
His  mind  was  tingling  clear.  "  I  '11  cram  ...  I  '11  take 
...  I  '11  bash  ...  I  '11  cram  the  letter  down  his  throat." 

He  was  arrived !  He  was  here !  "  Into  my  hands ! 
Into  my  hands."  He  passed  into  the  office  and  swiftly  as 
he  could  go  up  the  stairs.  He  encountered  no  one.  He 
came  to  Twyning's  door  and  put  his  hand  upon  the  latch. 
Immediately,  and  enormously,  so  that  for  a  moment  he 
was  forced  to  pause,  the  pulse  broke  out  anew  in  his 
head.  Knock,  knock,  knock.  Knock,  knock,  knock. 
Curse  the  thing !  Never  mind.  In !  In !  At  him !  At 
him! 

He  went  in. 


402  IF   WINTER   COMES 

III 

On  his  right,  as  he  entered,  a  fire  was  burning  in  the 
grate  and  it  struck  him,  with  the  inconsequent  insistence 
of  trifles  in  enormous  issues,  how  chilly  for  the  time  of 
year  the  day  had  been  and  how  icily  cold  his  own  house. 
On  the  left,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  Twyning  sat  at 
his  desk.  He  was  crouched  at  his  desk.  His  head  was 
buried  in  his  hands.  At  his  elbows,  vivid  upon  the  black 
expanse  of  the  table,  lay  a  torn  envelope,  dull  red. 

Sabre  shut  the  door  and  leant  his  stick  against  the 
wall  by  the  fire.  He  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
walked  across  and  stood  over  Twyning.  Twyning  had 
not  heard  him.  He  stood  over  him  and  looked  down  upon 
him.  Knock,  knock,  knock.  Curse  the  thing.  There 
was  Twyning's  neck,  that  brown  strip  between  his  collar 
and  his  head,  that  in  a  minute  he  would  catch  him  by.  .  .  . 
No,  seated  thus  he  would  catch  his  hair  and  wrench  him 
back  and  cram  his  meal  upon  him.  Knock,  knock,  knock. 
Curse  the  thing! 

He  said  heavily,  "  Twyning.  Twyning,  I  Ve  come  to 
speak  to  you  about  your  son." 

Twyning  slightly  twisted  his  face  in  his  hands  so  as  to 
glance  up  at  Sabre.  His  face  was  red.  He  said  in  an 
odd,  thick  voice,  "  Oh,  Sabre,  Sabre,  have  you  heard?" 

Sabre  said,  "Heard?" 

"  He  's  killed.  My  Harold.  My  boy.  My  boy,  Har 
old.  Oh,  Sabre,  Sabre,  my  boy,  my  boy,  my  Harold !  " 

He  began  to  sob;  his  shoulders  heaving. 

Sabre  gave  a  sound  that  was  just  a  whimper.  Oh, 
irony  of  fate!  Oh,  cynicism  incredible  in  its  malignancy! 
Oh,  cumulative  touch !  To  deliver  him  this  his  enemy  to 
strike,  and  to  present  him  for  the  knife  thus  already 
stricken ! 

No  sound  in  all  the  range  of  sounds  whereby  man  can 


IF   WINTER   COMES  403 

express  emotion  was  possible  to  express  this  emotion 
that  now  surcharged  him.  This  was  no  pain  of  man's 
devising.  This  was  a  special  and  a  private  agony  of  the 
gods  reserved  for  victims  approved  for  very  nice  and 
exquisite  experiment.  He  felt  himself  squeezed  right 
down  beneath  a  pressure  squeezing  to  his  vitals;  and 
there  was  squeezed  out  of  him  just  a  whimper. 

He  walked  across  to  the  fireplace;  and  on  the  high 
mantle-shelf  laid  his  arms  and  bowed  his  forehead  to 
the  marble. 

Twyning  was  brokenly  saying,  "  It 's  good  of  you  to- 
come,  Sabre.  I  feel  it.  After  that  business.  I  'm  sorry 
about  it,  Sabre.  I  feel  your  goodness  coming  to  me  like 
this.  But  you  know,  you  always  knew,  what  my  boy 
was  to  me.  My  Harold.  My  Harold.  Such  a  good 
boy,  Sabre.  Such  a  good,  Christian  boy.  And  now  he  's 
gone,  he  's  gone.  Never  to  see  him  again.  My  boy. 
My  son.  My  son !  " 

Oh,  dreadful! 

And  he  went  on,  distraught  and  pitiable.  "  My  boy. 
My  Harold.  Such  a  good  boy,  Sabre.  Such  a  perfect 
boy.  My  Harold!" 

The  letter  was  crumpled  in  Sabre's  right  hand.  He 
was  constricting  it  in  his  hand  and  knocking  his  clenched 
knuckles  on  the  marble. 

"  My  boy.     My  dear,  good  boy.     Oh,  Sabre,  Sabre !  " 

He  dropped  his  right  arm  and  swung  it  by  his  side; 
to  and  fro;  over  the  fender — over  the  fire;  over  the 
hearth  —  over  the  flames. 

"  My  Harold.  Never  to  see  his  face  again !  My 
Harold." 

He  stopped  his  swinging  arm,  holding  his  hand  above 
the  flames.  "  He  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in  God 
and  God  in  him;  for  God  is  love."  He  opened  his  fin 
gers,  and  the  crumpled  letter  fell  and  was  consumed. 


404  IF    WINTER    COMES 

He  pushed  himself  up  from  the  mantlepiece  and  turned 
and  went  over  to  Twyning  and  stood  over  him 
again.  He  patted  Twyning's  heaving  shoulders. 
"  There,  there,  Twyning.  Bad  luck.  Bad  luck.  Hard. 
Hard.  Bear  up,  Twyning.  Soldier's  death.  .  .  .  Finest 
death.  .  .  .  Died  for  his  country.  .  .  .  Fine  boy.  .  .  . 
Soldier's  death.  «  .  .  Bad  luck.  Bad  luck,  Twyn 
ing.  .  .  .  " 

Twyning,  inarticulate,  pushed  up  his  hand  and  felt  for 
Sabre's  hand  and  clutched  it  and  squeezed  it  convulsively. 

Sabre  said  again,  "  There,  there,  Twyning.  Hard. 
Hard.  Fine  death.  .  .  .  Brave  boy.  .  .  ."  He  disen 
gaged  his  hand  and  turned  and  walked  very  slowly  from 
the  room. 

He  went  along  the  passage,  past  Mr.  Fortune's  door 
towards  that  which  had  been  his  own,  still  walking  very 
slowly  and  with  his  hand  against  the  wall  to  steady  him 
self.  He  felt  deathly  ill.  .  .  . 

He  went  into  his  own  room,  unentered  by  him  for  many 
months,  now  his  own  room  no  more,  and  dropped  heavily 
into  the  familiar  chair  at  the  familiar  desk.  He  put  his 
arms  out  along  the  desk  and  laid  his  head  upon  them. 
Oh,  cumulative  touch !  He  began  to  be  shaken  with  onsets 
of  emotion,  as  with  sobs.  Oh,  cumulative  touch ! 

The  communicating  door  opened  and  Mr.  Fortune  ap 
peared.  He  stared  at  Sabre  in  astounded  indignation. 
"  Sabre !  You  here !  I  must  say  —  I  must  admit  —  " 

Sabre  clutched  up  his  dry  and  terrible  sobbing.  He 
turned  swiftly  to  Mr.  Fortune  and  put  his  hands  on  the 
arms  of  the  chair  to  rise. 

A  curious  look  came  upon  his  face.  He  said,  "  I  say, 
I  'm  sorry.  I  Jm  sorry.  I  —  I  can't  get  up." 

Mr.  Fortune  boomed,  "  Can't  get  up !  " 

"  I  say  —  No.  I  say,  I  think  something  's  happened  to 
me.  I  can't  get  u$" 


IF   WINTER   COMES  405 

The  door  opened.    Hapgood  came  in,  and  Nona. 

Sabre  said,  "  I  say,  Hapgood  —  Nona  —  Nona !  I  say, 
Nona,  I  think  something  's  happened  to  me.  I  can't  get 
up." 

A  change  came  over  his  face.  He  collapsed  back  in 
the  chair. 

"Marko!     Marko!" 

She  who  thus  cried  ran  forward  and  threw  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  him,  her  hands  stretched  up  to  him. 

Hapgood  turned  furiously  on  Mr.  Fortune.  "  Go  for  a 
doctor !  Go  like  hell !  Sabre !  Sabre,  old  man !  " 

"  Hemorrhage  on  the  brain,"  said  the  doctor.  "... 
Well,  if  there  's  no  more  effusion  of  blood.  You  quite 
understand  me.  I  say  if  there  is  n't.  .  .  .  Has  he  been 
through  any  trouble,  any  kind  of  strain?  " 

"  Trouble,"  said  Hapgood.  "  Strain.  He  's  been  in 
hell  —  right  in," 

When  he  was  removed  and  they  had  left  him,  Nona 
said  to  Hapgood  as  they  came  down  the  steps  of  the 
County  Hospital,  "  There  was  a  thing  he  was  so  fond  of, 
Mr.  Hapgood : 

"...  O  Wind, 

If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind? 

"  It  comes  to  me  now.  There  must  be  a  turning  now. 
If  he  dies  .  .  .  still,  a  turning," 


CHAPTER   VIII 


HAPGOOD  across  the  coffee  cups,  the  liqueur  glasses  and 
the  cigarettes,  wagged  a  solemn  head  at  that  friend  of 
his,  newly  returned  from  a  long  visit  to  America.  He 
wagged  a  solemn  head : 

"  She  's  got  her  divorce,  that  wife  of  his.  .  .  . 

"  Eh  ?  .  .  .  Well,  man  alive,  where  do  you  expect  me 
to  begin  ?  You  insinuate  yourself  into  a  Government  com 
mission  to  go  to  America  to  lecture  with  your  '  Sketch 
book  on  the  Western  Front ',  and  I  write  you  about  six 
letters  to  every  one  I  get  out  of  you,  and  you  come  back 
and  expect  me  to  give  you  a  complete  social  and  political 
and  military  record  of  everything  that 's  happened  in 
your  absence.  Can't  you  read?  .  .  . 

('  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  I  Ve  told  you  in  my 
letters  how  he  went  on  after  that  collapse,  that  brain 
hemorrhage.  I  told  you  we  got  Ormond  Clive  on  to  him. 
I  told  you  we  got  him  up  here  eventually  to  Clive's  own 
nursing  home  in  Welbeck  Place.  Clive  was  a  friend  of 
that  Lady  Tybar.  She  was  with  Sabre  all  the  time  he 
was  in  Queer  Street  —  and  it  was  queer,  I  give  you  my 
word.  Pretty  well  every  day  I  'd  look  in.  Every  day 
she  'd  be  there.  Every  day  Ormond  Clive  would  come. 
Time  and  again  we  'd  stand  around  the  bed,  we  three,  — 
watching.  Impenetrable  and  extraordinary  business! 
There  was  his  body,  alive,  breathing.  His  mind,  his  con 
sciousness,  his  ego,  his  self,  his  whatever  you  like  to  call 


IF   WINTER   COMES  407 

it  —  not  there.  Away.  Absent.  Not  in  that  place.  De 
parted  into,  and  occupied  in  that  mysterious  valley  where 
those  cases  go.  What  was  he  doing  there?  What  was 
he  seeing  there  ?  What  was  he  thinking  there  ?  Was  he 
in  touch  with  this  that  belonged  to  him  here  ?  Was  he  sit 
ting  in  some  fastness,  dark  and  infinitely  remote,  and  try 
ing  to  rid  himself  of  this  that  belonged  to  him  here  ?  Was 
he  trying  to  get  back  to  it,  to  resume  habitation  and  pos 
session  and  command?  It  was  rummy.  It  was  eerie. 
It  was  creepy.  It  was  like  staring  down  into  a  dark  pit 
and  hearing  little  tinkling  sounds  of  some  one  moving 
there,  and  wondering  what  the  devil  he  was  up  to.  Yes, 
it  was  creepy.  .  .  . 

"  Process  of  time  he  began  to  come  back.  He  'd 
struck  a  light  down  there,  as  you  might  say,  and  you 
could  see  the  dim,  mysterious  glimmer  of  it,  moving 
about,  imperceptibly  coming  up  the  side.  Now  brighter, 
now  fainter;  now  here,  now  there.  Rummy,  I  can  tell 
you.  But  he  was  coming  up.  He  was  climbing  up  out 
of  that  place  where  he  had  been.  What  would  he  re 
member?  Yes,  and  what  was  he  coming  up  to? 

"  What  was  he  coming  up  to?  That  was  what  began 
to  worry  me.  This  divorce  suit  of  his  wife's  was  climb 
ing  up  its  place  in  the  list.  He  was  climbing  up  out  of 
the  place  where  he  had  been  and  this  case  was  climbing 
up  towards  hearing.  Do  you  get  me?  Do  you  get  my 
trouble?  Soon  as  his  head  emerged  up  out  of  the  pit, 
was  he  going  to  be  bludgeoned  down  into  it  again  by 
going  through  in  the  Divorce  Court  precisely  that  which 
had  bludgeoned  him  down  at  the  inquest  ?  Was  I  going 
to  get  the  case  held  up  so  as  to  keep  him  for  that?  Or 
what  was  I  going  to  do  ?  I  had  n't  been  instructed  to 
prepare  his  defence.  At  Brighton,  when  I  'd  suggested 
it,  he  'd  told  me,  politely,  to  go  to  hell.  I  had  n't  been 
instructed;  no  one  had  been  instructed.  And  there  was 


408  IF   WINTER    COMES 

no  defence  to  prepare.  There  was  only  his  bare  word, 
only  his  flat  denial  —  denial  flat,  unprofitable,  and  totally 
unsupported.  The  only  person  who  could  support  it  was 
the  girl,  and  she  was  dead:  she  was  much  worse  than 
dead:  she  had  died  in  atrocious  circumstances,  his  part 
in  which  had  earned  him  the  severe  censure  of  the  cor 
oner's  jury.  His  defence  could  n't  have  been  worse. 
He  'd  tied  himself  in  damning  knots  ever  since  he  'd  first 
set  eyes  on  the  girl,  and  all  he  could  bring  to  untie  them 
was  simply  to  say,  *  It  was  n't  so.'  His  defence  was  as 
bad  as  if  he  were  to  stand  up  before  the  Divorce  Court 
and  say,  '  Before  she  died  the  girl  wrote  and  signed  a 
statement  exonerating  me  and  fixing  the  paternity  on 
so-and-so.  He  's  dead,  too,  that  so-and-so,  and  as  for  her 
signed  statement,  I  'm  sorry  to  say  I  destroyed  it,  for 
getting  I  should  need  it  in  this  suit.  I  was  worried  about 
something  else  at  the  time,  and  I  quite  forgot  this  and  I 
destroyed  it.' 

"  I  don't  say  his  defence  would  be  quite  so  crudely  in 
sulting  to  the  intelligence  of  the  court  as  that;  but  I  say 
the  whole  unsupported  twisting  and  turning  and  writhing 
and  wriggling  of  it  was  not  far  short  of  it. 

"  Well,  that  was  how  I  figured  it  out  to  myself  in  those 
'days,  as  the  case  came  along  for  hearing;  and  I  said  to 
myself:  Was  I  going  to  put  in  affidavits  for  a  stay  of 
hearing  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  nursed  back  to 
life  to  go  through  that  agony  and  ordeal  of  the  inquest 
again  and  come  out  with  the  same  result  as  if  he  had  n't 
been  there  at  all  ?  And  I  decided  —  no ;  no,  thanks ;  not 
me.  It  was  too  much  like  patching  up  a  dying  man  in  a 
civilised  country  for  the  pleasure  of  hanging  him,  or 
like  fatting  up  a  starving  man  in  a  cannibal  country  for 
the  satisfaction  of  eating  him. 

"  And  I  had  this.  In  further  support  of  my  position 
I  had  this.  My  friend,  the  Divorce  Court  is  a  cynical 


IF   WINTER   COMES  409 

institution.  If  a  respondent  and  a  corespondent  have 
been  in  places  and  in  circumstances  where  they  might 
have  incriminated  themselves,  the  Divorce  Court  cyni 
cally  assumes  that,  being  human,  they  would  have  in 
criminated  themselves.  '  But/  it  says  to  the  petitioner, 
'  I  want  proof,  definite  and  satisfactory  proof  of  those 
places  and  of  those  circumstances.  That 's  what  I  want. 
That 's  what  you  Ve  got  to  give  me/ 

"  Very  well.  Listen  to  me  attentively.  Lend  me  your 
ears.  The  onus  of  that  proof  rests  on  the  petitioner. 
Because  a  case  is  undefended,  it  does  n't  for  one  single 
shadow  of  a  chance  follow  that  the  petitioner's  plea  is 
therefore  going  to  be  granted.  No.  The  Divorce  Court 
may  be  cynical,  but  it's  a  stickler  for  proof.  The  Divorce 
Court  says  to  the  petitioner,  '  It 's  up  to  you.  Prove  it. 
Never  mind  what  the  other  side  is  n't  here  to  deny.  What 
you  Ve  got  to  do  is  to  satisfy  me,  to  prove  to  me  that 
these  places  and  these  circumstances  were  so.  Go  ahead. 
Satisfy  me  —  if  you  can/ 

<f  So  I  said  to  myself :  now  the  places  and  the  circum 
stances  of  this  petition  unquestionably  were  so.  All  the 
Sabres  in  the  world  could  n't  deny  that.  Let  his  wife  go 
ahead  and  prove  them  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Court,  if 
she  can.  If  she  can't ;  good ;  no  harm  done  that  he  was  n't 
there  to  be  bludgeoned  anew.  If  she  can  satisfy  the  court, 
well,  I  say  to  you,  my  friend,  as  I  said  then  to  myself, 
and  I  say  it  deliberately:  '  If  she  can  satisfy  the  court  — 
good  again,  better,  excellent.  He  's  free :  he 's  free  from 
a  bond  intolerable  to  both  of  them/ 

"  Right.  The  hearing  came  on  and  his  wife  did  satisfy 
the  Court.  She  got  her  decree.  He  Js  free.  .  .  .  That 's 
that.  .  .  . 

"  Yesterday  I  took  my  courage  in  both  hands  and  told 
him.  Yesterday  Ormond  Clive  said  Sabre  might  be  cau 
tiously  approached  about  things.  For  three  weeks  past 


410  IF   WINTER   COMES 

Clive  's  not  let  us  —  me  or  that  Lady  Tybar  —  see  him. 
Yesterday  we  were  permitted  again;  and  I  took  steps  to 
be  there  first.  I  told  him.  There  was  one  thing  I  'd 
rather  prayed  for  to  help  me  in  the  telling,  and  it  came 
off  —  he  did  n't  remember !  He  'd  come  out  of  that 
place  where  he  had  been  with  only  a  confused  recollec 
tion  of  all  that  had  happened  to  him  before  he  went  in. 
Like  a  fearful  nightmare  that  in  the  morning  one  re 
members  only  vaguely  and  in  bits.  Vaguely  and  in  bits 
he  remembered  the  inquest  horror,  and  vaguely  and  in 
bits  he  remembered  the  divorce  matter  —  and  he  thought 
the  one  was  as  much  over  as  the  other.  He  thought  he 
had  been  divorced.  I  said  to  him,  taking  it  as  the  easiest 
way  of  breaking  my  news,  I  said  to  him,  '  You  know  your 
wife's  divorced  you,  old  man?'  He  said  painfully, 
'  Yes,  I  know.  I  remember  that/ 

"  I  could  have  stood  on  my  head  and  waved  my  heels 
with  relief  and  joy.  Of  course  it  will  come  back  to  him 
in  time  that  the  business  hadn't  happened  before  his 
illness.  In  time  he  '11  begin  to  grope  after  detailed  rec 
ollection,  and  he  '11  begin  to  realise  that  he  never  did  go 
through  it  and  that  it  must  have  happened  while  he  wras 
ill.  Well,  I  don't  funk  that.  That  won't  happen  yet 
awhile ;  and  when  it  does  happen  I  'm  confident  enough 
that  something  else  will  have  happened  meanwhile  and 
that  he  '11  see,  and  thank  God  for  it,  that  what  is  is  best. 
There  '11  be  another  thing  too.  He  ''11  find  his  wife  has 
married  again.  Yes,  fact !  I  heard  in  a  roundabout  way 
that  she  's  going  to  marry  an  old  neighbour  of  theirs, 
chap  called  Major  Millett,  Hopscotch  Millett,  old  Sabre 
used  to  call  him.  However,  that's  not  the  thing  —  though 
it  would  be  a  complication  —  that  I  mean  will  have  hap 
pened  and  will  make  him  see,  and  thank  God  for,  that 
what  is  is  best.  What  do  I  mean  ?  What  will  have  hap 
pened  meanwhile  ?  Well,  that 's  telling  ;  and  I  don't  feel 


IF   WINTER    COMES  411 

it 's  quite  mine  to  tell.  Tell  you  what,  you  come  around 
and  have  a  look  at  the  old  chap  to-morrow.  I  dare  bet 
he  '11  be  on  the  road  towards  it  by  then  and  perhaps  tell 
us  himself.  As  I  was  coming  away  yesterday  I  passed 
that  Lady  Tybar  going  in,  and  I  told  her  what  I  'd  been 
saying  to  him  and  what  he  remembered  and  what  he 
did  n't  remember.  .  .  .  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ? 
Well,  you  wait  and  see,  my  boy.  You  wait  and  see.  I  '11 
tell  you  this  —  come  on,  let 's  be  getting  off  to  this  play 
or  we  '11  be  late  —  I  tell  you  this,  it 's  my  belief  of  old 
Sabre  that,  after  all  he  's  been  through, 

"  Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea 
And  the  hunter  home   from  the  hill. 

Or  jolly  soon  will  be.  And  good  luck  to  him.  He 's 
won  out." 

II 

Sabre,  after  Hapgood  on  the  visit  on  which  he  had  be 
gun  "  to  tell  him  things  ",  had  left  him,  was  sitting 
propped  up  in  bed  awaiting  who  next  might  come.  The 
nurse  had  told  him  he  was  to  have  visitors  that  morning. 
He  sat  as  a  man  might  sit  at  daybreak,  brooding  down 
upon  a  valley  whence  slowly  the  veiling  mists  dissolved. 
These  many  days  they  had  been  lifting;  there  were  be 
coming  apparent  to  him  familiar  features  about  the  land 
scape.  He  was  as  one  returned  after  long  absence  to  his 
native  village  and  wondering  to  find  forgotten  things 
again,  paths  he  had  walked,  scenes  he  had  viewed,  places 
and  people  left  long  ago  and  still  enduring  here.  More 
than  that :  he  was  to  go  down  among  them. 

The  door  opened  and  one  came  in.    Nona. 

She  said  to  him,  "  Marko !  " 

He  had  no  reply  that  he  could  make. 


412  IF    WINTER    COMES 

She  slipped  off  a  fur  that  she  was  wearing  and  came 
and  sat  down  beside  him.  She  wore  what  he  would 
have  thought  of  as  a  kind  of  waistcoat  thing,  cut  like 
his  own  waistcoats  but  short;  and  opened  above  like 
a  waistcoat  but  turned  back  in  a  white  rolled  edg 
ing,  revealing  all  her  throat.  She  had  a  little  close- 
fitting  hat  banded  with  flowers  and  a  loose  veil  depended 
from  it.  She  put  back  the  veil.  Beauty  abode  in  her 
face  as  the  scent  within  the  rose,  Hapgood  had  said ;  and, 
as  perfume  deeply  inhaled,  her  serene  and  tender  beauty 
penetrated  Sabre's  senses,  propped  up,  watching  her.  He 
had  something  to  say  to  her. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  I  have  seen  you,  Nona?  " 

"  It 's  a  month  since  I  was  here,  Marko." 

"  I  don't  remember  it." 

"  You  Ve  been  very  ill;  oh,  so  ill." 

He  said  slowly,  "  Yes,  I  think  I  Ve  been  down  in  a 
pretty  deep  place." 

'  You  're  going  to  be  splendid  now,  Marko." 

He  did  not  respond  to  her  tone.  He  said,  "  I  Ve  come 
on  a  lot  in  the  last  few  weeks.  I  'd  an  idea  you  'd  been 
about  me  before  that.  I  'd  an  idea  you  'd  be  coming 
again.  There  's  a  thing  I  Ve  been  thinking  out  to  tell 
you." 

She  breathed,  "  Yes,  tell  me,  Marko." 

But  he  did  not  answer. 

She  said,  "  Have  you  been  thinking,  in  these  weeks, 
while  you  Ve  been  coming  on,  what  you  are  going  to 
do?" 

His  hands,  that  had  been  crumpling  up  the  sheet,  were 
now  laid  flat  before  him.  His  eyes,  that  had  been  re 
garding  her,  were  now  averted  from  her,  fixed  ahead. 
"  There  is  nothing  I  can  do,  in  the  way  you  mean." 

She  was  silent  a  little  time. 

"  Marko,  we  Ve  not  talked  at  all  about  the  greatest 


IF   WINTER    COMES  413 

thing  —  of  course  they've  told  you?  —  the  Armistice, 
the  war  won.  England,  your  England  that  you  loved  so, 
at  peace,  victorious ;  those  dark  years  done.  England  her 
own  again.  Your  dear  England,  Marko." 

He  said,  "  It 's  no  more  to  do  with  me.  Frightful 
things  have  happened  to  me.  Frightful  things." 

She  stretched  a  hand  to  his.  He  moved  his  hands 
away.  "  Marko,  they  're  done.  I  would  not  have 
spoken  of  them.  But  shall  I.  ...  Your  dear  England 
in  those  years  suffered  frightful  things.  She  suffered 
lies,  calumnies,  hateful  and  terrible  things  —  not  in  one 
little  place  but  across  the  world.  Those  who  loved  her 
trusted  her  and  she  has  come  through  those  dark  years; 
and  those  who  know  you  have  trusted  you  always,  and 
you  are  coming  through  those  days  to  show  to  all.  .  .  . 
Time,  Marko;  time  heals  all  things,  forgets  all  things, 
and  proves  all  things.  There  's  that  for  you." 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  quick,  decisive  motion. 

She  went  on.  "  There  's  your  book  —  your  '  England/ 
You  have  that  to  go  to  now.  And  all  your  plans  —  do 
you  remember  telling  me  all  your  plans  ?  Such  splendid 
plans.  And  first  of  all  your  '  England '  that  you  loved 
writing  so." 

He  said,  "  It  can't  be.    It  can't  be." 

She  began  again  to  speak.  He  said,  "  I  don't  want  to 
hear  those  things.  They  're  done.  I  don't  want  to  be 
told  those  things.  They  have  nothing  to  do  with  me." 

She  tried  to  present  to  him  indifferent  subjects  for  his 
entertainment.  She  could  not  get  him  to  talk  any  more. 
Presently  she  said,  with  a  movement,  "  I  am  not  to  stay 
with  you  very  long." 

He  then  aroused  himself  and  spoke  and  had  a  firmness 
in  his  voice.  "  And  I  '11  tell  you  this,"  he  said.  "  This 
was  what  I  said  I  had  to  tell  you.  When  you  go,  you 
are  not  to  return.  I  don't  want  to  see  you  again." 


414  IF   WINTER   COMES 

She  drew  a  breath,  steadying  herself,  "  Why  not,. 
Marko?" 

"  Because  what 's  been  has  been.  Done.  I  've  been 
through  frightful  things.  They're  on  me  still.  They 
always  will  be  on  me.  But  from  everything  that  belongs 
to  them  I  want  to  get  right  away.  And  I  'm  going  to." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    Only  get  right  away." 

She  got  up.  "  Very  well.  I  understand."  She  turned 
away.  "  It  grieves  me,  Marko.  But  I  understand.  I  've 
always  understood  you."  She  turned  again  and  came 
close  to  him.  "  That 's  what  you  're  going  to  do.  Do 
you  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.     He  was  breathing  deeply. 

"  I  'm  going  to  do  what  I  ought  to  have  done  the  min 
ute  I  came  into  the  room.  I  had  n't  quite  the  courage. 
This." 

She  suddenly  stooped  over  him.  She  encircled  him 
with  her  arms  and  slightly  raised  him  to  her.  She  put 
her  lips  to  his  and  kissed  him  and  held  him  so. 

''  You  are  never  going  to  leave  me,  Marko.  Never, 
never,  never,  till  death." 

He  cried,  "  Beloved,  Beloved,"  and  clung  to  her.  "  Be 
loved,  Beloved !  "  and  clung  to  her.  .  .  . 

Postscript. .  .  This  went  through  the  mail  bearing  post 
mark,  September,  1919: 

"  And  seeing  in  the  picture  newspaper  photograph  with 
printing  called  '  Lady  Tybar,  widow  of  the  late  Lord 
Tybar,  V.  C,  who  is  marrying  Mr.  Mark  Sabre  (inset)  ' 
and  never  having  been  in  comfortable  situation  since  leav 
ing  Penny  Green,  have  expected  you  might  be  wishing  for 
cook  and  house  parlourmaid  as  before  and  would  be  most 
pleased  and  obliged  to  come  to  you,  which  if  you  did  not 


IF   WINTER   COMES  415 

remember  us  at  first  were  always  called  by  you  hi!  Jinks 
and  lo !  Jinks,  and  no  offence  ever  taken,  as  knowing  it  was 
only  your  way  and  friendly.  And  so  will  end  now  and 
hoping  you  may  take  us  and  oblige,  your  obedient  servants 

"Sarah  Jinks  (hi!) 
"  Rebecca  Jinks  (lo!)  " 


THE   END 


NOVELS  BY  A.  S.  M.  HUTCHINSON 


William  Lyon  Phelps  in  ihe  New  York  Times  says: 

"Hutchinson  has  published  four  novels,  and  I  heartily 
recommend  them  all:  'Once  Aboard  the  Lugger — ,'  1908; 
The  Happy  Warrior '1912;  The  Clean  Heart,'  1914;  'If 
Winter  Comes,'  1921." 

IF  WINTER  COMES 

12mo.    415  pages. 

"  'If  Winter  Comes'  is  more  than  a  mere  novel,  it  is  an 
epic  poem  of  very  great  beauty  It  will  last  long  after  most 
other  literary  products -of  this  age  have  gone  to  an  obscure 
and  unlamented  grave." —  Li/e,  New  York. 

ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER  — 

12mo.   .327  pages. 

"At  once  serious  in  its  mockery  of  seriousness  and  touched 
with  genuine  sentiment  in  its  sympathy  with  the  emotions  of 
youth  .  .  .  Altogether  it  is  refreshing."  —  Everybody's 
Magazine,  New  York. 

THE  HAPPY  WARRIOR 

Frontispiece.    12mo.    448  pages. 

"  .  .  .  His  romance  and  his  humor  are  all  his  own,  and  the 
story  is  shot  through  and  through  with  a  fleeting  romance  and 
humor  that  is  all  the  more  effective  because  it  is  so  evanescent. 
Few  novels  exist  in  which  the  characters  are  as  viable  as  Mr. 
Hutchinson's." —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  CLEAN  HEART 

Frontispiece.    12mo.    403  pages. 

"It  will  find  its  way  to  the  heart  of  the  reader  in  short  order. 
It  has  a  strong  human  interest,  a  hero  whose  cause  commands 
appeal,  and  a  most  lovable  heroine.  .  .  Written  in  fine 
dramatic  style  and  with  character  delineation  that  has  a 
charm  all  its  own." —  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle 

LITTLE,  BROWN   &  CO.,  Publishers,  BOSTON 


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